


Normalcy

by Akaadji



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2020-10-07 21:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20459213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaadji/pseuds/Akaadji
Summary: Starts near the beginning of part 2, Blue Lions path. With everything quite literally crumbling around him, Sylvain falls back on what he knows; flirting. He isn't prepared for Byleth to respond favorably, or the fallout from it.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey Professor, it’s been a long time, huh?” Sylvain gave Byleth his usual lascivious grin, “Think I can finally give  _ you _ some one-on-one lessons?” It was all an act, of course. Everything was a mess right now, and it wasn’t likely to get better at any point in the near future. A lot had changed in the past five years, but his default coping mechanism hadn’t. The rejection would come quickly and he could laugh about it, make some stupid comment, and if he was lucky see something on his ex-professor’s face other than that...blankness...that ate at his heart. He was not prepared for the other man’s face to flush slightly, the empty expression replaced by a mixture of confusion and what he would almost think was embarrassment if he didn’t know better.

“I…” Byleth cleared his throat, and Sylvain found himself more certain that he really had read the correct emotion as the man continued, “I suppose that you would be the one to ask about certain subjects, given your…track record.” A thought rose unbidden to his mind at the professor’s words, that Byleth had learned Dimitri’s sense of humor, and that sent another twinge of pain through his heart. He forced himself to laugh, grateful that he had so much practice in making it sound sincere, and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah that’s me all right. I’m more an expert when it comes to girls, but it’s not like I haven’t dabbled y’know?” 

“I had been concerned about that, as I recall how strongly you focused on women back when you were my student. If you’re able to give advice regarding the same sex as well, however, perhaps it would be best to accept your offer.” Byleth folded his hands as he spoke, and the look on his face was one of complete sincerity. Sylvain could no longer chalk it up to the older man attempting to mess with him, not when he’d just revealed something so personal, and that left him at an uncharacteristic lack of words. 

“Well, well, that does explain how you could resist all the cute girls back in our academy days…” he finally managed, after what felt to him like far too long a pause. He could tell that Byleth had noticed that something was off, as the mask of indifference had returned to his face and his body language had changed. He was back to being guarded. 

“I seem to have overstepped my boundaries. I apologize. Please, forget that we had this conversation.” And there it was. The polite, clipped tone the former mercenary used when speaking to unfamiliar nobles. Sylvain pulled out the seat beside Byleth, hoping that if he sat down it would show the other man that he truly wasn’t attempting to shame him in any way. 

“I’m sorry, Professor. I’m not bothered by your preferences, or by you asking me for advice. It was just unexpected, that’s all.” The playful tone had dropped from his voice now; the time for faking stupidity had passed.  _ Sometimes I forget you’re human _ . 

“I will leave things in your hands. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me, Sylvain...” Byleth paused, and Sylvain could only guess that the other man was trying to decide which way of speaking to settle on. “If you’d prefer, we can pretend this never happened. Otherwise I would ask that you visit me tomorrow night in my quarters. If you can’t make it, we never need to speak of this subject again.” Even aside from the fluctuations in formality there was still a noticeable tension in his voice, and in the troubled green eyes, but the effort was unmistakable. It felt like Byleth wanted to treat him as an equal, rather than commoner/noble or teacher/student, but wasn’t entirely sure how. He supposed that made sense, given what little he had been able to gather about what the other man had been doing (or not, as the case may be) the last half a decade. Their dynamic had changed in what must feel like the blink of an eye to him. 

“Will you be available after dinner? We could eat together like old times and then head back. I have the overnight guard shift so I’ve only got so much of the night free...” It was only as he was saying it that he realized that Byleth would, of course, already know his schedule, and had chosen to ask him to come by when he would have had a perfectly reasonable excuse to bow out.

“Like old times,” the other man echoed quietly, returning his attention to the parchment in front of him, “I would like that.” Sylvain took a quick glance at the papers, confirming his suspicions that they involved the restoration of the monastery to something inhabitable for anyone other than soldiers. There was nothing more for him to add, so he took his leave. 

  
Dinner the following night was meagre and eaten in silence, a far cry from some of the luxurious dishes and raucous noise that used to fill the dining room of Garreg Mach. It was closer to the quality of meal one would eat on the road, though at least it had the benefit of having been prepared in a proper kitchen. Dimitri had been nowhere to be seen, not that Sylvain had been expecting him. He wasn’t entirely sure when, or for that matter if, the man had eaten since they had all arrived back at the monastery. He was aware that something needed to be done. Everyone was. But only Byleth and Felix dared to so much as address the prince anymore. Goddess knows  _ he  _ didn’t dare to venture within striking range. Felix’s tendency to compare Dimitri to a wild boar felt truly accurate now; there was nothing human in the eye that had locked onto Sylvain the first evening when he’d attempted to speak to him.

“Sylvain?” Byleth’s voice startled him out of his thoughts and he looked up from the empty plate in front of him. It looked as though the professor had been waiting for him. 

“Sorry, guess I zoned out a bit.” All Sylvain could do was give the man an apologetic grin that didn’t reach his eyes. Byleth seemed as though he wanted to say something more, but apparently thought better of it as he stood up instead. Sylvain followed his lead, and they walked back to Byleth’s quarters with no more words exchanged.

“I’m afraid that my room isn’t particularly well-decorated, but please, make yourself comfortable.” Byleth took a seat on his bed as he spoke, his body language making it obvious that he wasn’t accustomed to guests in his space. Sylvain looked between the cluttered desk and the bed, taking a moment to calculate his options before pulling the chair into the middle of the room. He sat so that he could lean on the back of the chair, chin resting on his hands. 

“Nah it’s fine. Not gonna lie, this wasn’t how I imagined coming to your room for the first time, Professor.” There was an anxious undertone to the joke that he didn’t like, but there was no taking it back now. He regretted it all the more when Byleth tensed. 

“You’ve...imagined visiting me before?” What Sylvain saw when the other man looked up at him wasn’t the accusation that he had feared, but instead a mild confusion.  _ I’m pretty sure every student at the academy who’s into guys has imagined it,  _ he wanted to say. 

“...yeah, a few times back at the academy days,” he admitted instead, running a hand through his hair. There was something about Byleth that made it almost impossible to lie to him, even though discussing something like this face-to-face with his professor was difficult. Part of him wasn’t even certain that the other man understood the subtext of his words. 

“I honestly would never have guessed, even if I had known you weren’t solely interested in women. Though, admittedly, I had no interest in any of my students. Ah, romantically, that is.” Byleth added the last few words quickly, as though he only realized the way it came out after the words had left his lips. There was something about seeing him this way that felt at once comforting and somehow wrong, and Sylvain wasn’t sure which of those emotions would win out in the end.

“I cared about you as people, though, and that...was something I didn’t know how to deal with at first.” Byleth rested his chin in one hand, sighing deeply. “I don’t tend to speak of this, because it seems to confuse others or make them uncomfortable. The reason I don’t speak about my life before arriving here is not because I wish to forget it, or out of shame. My life before Garreg Mach is a haze. I ate, slept, fought, trained, purely because that was what life with Jeralt consisted of. There was no choice made in that life, but I don’t mean that in the sense of having not been given a choice. There was just...nothing. Something awoke in me once I began staying here. Emotions were suddenly no longer foreign to me, and they were deeply confusing to experience.” Byleth shook his head, a faint smile on his lips as he finished speaking.

“If I heard that from anyone else I wouldn’t believe them, but you, Professor? You, I believe.” There were so many more things Sylvain wanted to say, so many things he wanted to  _ ask _ , but how do you find the words to ask a man what it was like to spend life as an empty shell and suddenly awaken? He’d wished so many times for a different life. Cursed his Crest, loathed everything that came with it, and presented himself as a worthless skirt chaser to show House Gautier what caring about nothing else had gotten them, but to effectively have no past at all was something entirely different.

“Thank you, Sylvain. I’m aware that I’m an anomaly in many ways, which is what led me to come to you.” Byleth shifted uncomfortably on the bed, eyes darting quickly to the door as if he were double-checking that it was closed and visibly relaxing when he’d confirmed that it was. Then the emotion slid from his face again and he stood once more, walking over to Sylvain.

“May I?” The question was accompanied by a movement of his hand, and Sylvain nodded as he bit back his desire to ask what, exactly, Byleth was seeking permission for. He felt the warmth of the other man’s hand on his, then his hand was lifted from the back of the chair entirely and placed on the older man’s chest. 

“Professor?” Was this some sort of clumsy attempt at a confession, placing his hand over his heart like this? Except no, it  _ wasn’t _ over Byleth’s heart because the only thing he could feel was the heat of the man’s skin through his shirt. Sylvain blinked, pressing his hand more firmly once he had looked more closely and confirmed that yes, indeed, the way his hand was resting he should have been clearly feeling a heartbeat...his fingers slid to the other side, and once again felt nothing. When he met Byleth’s eyes it was clear that his reaction was, if not necessarily correct, at least expected. 

“I’ve never had a heartbeat. I used to be more honest about it, in the beginning, but it was laughed off and I came to realize that nothing good would come of sharing it carelessly,” the other man explained calmly. Something suddenly twisted in Sylvain’s gut and he pulled his hand away, suppressing a shudder. 

“But you’re…” he paused, swallowing a couple of times before he trusted himself to speak again, “You’re  _ alive _ , right?” He found himself fighting the urge to stand, to back away, and that added guilt into the mix of confusion, fear, and revulsion churning inside him. Intellectually he was aware that Byleth must trust him deeply to be willing to confide this to him, and provide undeniable proof of his claims, but that simply wasn’t enough right now to override how viscerally wrong it felt. He realized he was breathing heavily, and there was no chance that the other man could have missed it. 

“I...believe so.” Byleth’s voice was softer than Sylvain was accustomed to, and laced with an emotion he couldn’t immediately place. “I’ve questioned my own humanity many times since I...awoke, for lack of a better word. I’ve found no concrete answers, only more questions.”  _ Shame _ , Sylvain realized as his professor continued to speak. He wasn’t sure if he had ever heard the other man sound ashamed before, and it was enough to cut through his own feelings, at least for the moment. 

“I’m sorry for my reaction, Professor. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I promise I will never break your confidence.” He could only hope that the words would sound less hollow to Byleth than they did to his own ears. When Byleth stepped away from him to sit back down on the bed, Sylvain knew that they hadn’t. He struggled to think of something to say that would make up for it, but nothing came to him before the other man spoke again. 

“I don’t wish to make you late for your guard shift. I’m sure that Felix needs to rest, regardless of his claims to the contrary.” The older man’s words left no room for argument or appeal, so Sylvain nodded weakly and stood. 

“Please excuse me.” 


	2. Chapter 2

In the days that followed, Sylvain found no opportunities to speak with Byleth. The threat of Imperial attack left little time for socializing, not that he was sure what he’d have said even if the chance had been there. The night of the incident would likely have been sleepless even if he hadn’t been on guard duty, if the restless sleep he’d fallen into once he finally returned to his room was any indication. He’d kept his word, deflecting the few questions he’d gotten with a wink and teasing comment. As far as most of the monastery’s inhabitants would be able to tell, he was barely affected at all by the constant tension in the air. He was sure Felix knew otherwise, but there were more than enough outside factors to make his state understandable and his friend practically lived at the training grounds anyway. 

  
  


When the first barrage of Imperial troops arrived at Garreg Mach, Byleth had leapt into the middle of the fighting as always, reacting to threats with the immediacy and foresight that Sylvain had always admired. Now, though, there was a question echoing in his head as he’d watched his professor. Did he know what was going to happen? The man had always been someone special, had shown that countless times in the time Sylvain had known him. If he could  _ live without a damned heartbeat _ , was it really unfeasible for him to have some sort of unnatural insight in battle? A troop of reinforcements coming up on his position left him no more time to think about the matter, and he rallied his own battalion to meet them head-on.

Once the battle had been won, it was time to deal with the wounded and the dead. Sylvain had avoided any serious injury, so he took his place with the others clearing the battlefield. He didn’t have it in him to deal with the area Dimitri had been fighting in; the reaction of the soldiers tasked with cleaning up those bodies was enough to haunt him. Once he had exhausted most of his remaining energy helping to bury those they had lost, he volunteered his assistance mopping up after the wounded. It was as he was on his knees in the entryway, scrubbing smears of blood from the stones, that he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He paused in his work when they stopped behind him, but heard only the shifting of fabric. As he turned to find out who it was encroaching on his space, he realized that it was Byleth. From the way he held himself Sylvain could tell that his professor hadn’t gotten out unscathed. The older man had removed his armor but had neither bathed nor changed since the fighting had ended. There was dried blood splattered in his hair and smeared on his face, in a pattern Sylvain knew came from a fatal sword slash. 

“You should rest. You’ve done enough for today.” Byleth’s voice was gentle, but firm. He knelt beside Sylvain, keeping his left arm held close to his body. Now that he was closer, Sylvain could see cloth wrapped around his forearm, obviously concealing the half-healed remnants of a defensive wound. There weren’t enough healers to treat everyone fully, not after something like this.  _ Does Mercedes know about you? _ The thought was unwelcome. It was none of his business whether Byleth had ever had to explain after a battle that no, he was still alive and there was no reason for concern. 

“Someone’s gotta do it, Professor. Gotta get this place habitable, right?” The words were automatic as he returned his attention to the mess in front of him. “I got out okay today so it’s the least I can do…” 

“Sylvain.” Byleth’s hand was too warm compared to the lukewarm water and cold stone as it wrapped around his, taking the dripping rag away. He wasn’t sure whether it was the way the man said his name or the fact that he had actually made physical contact, but he didn’t push back. All of a sudden, he could smell the blood again. He’d been so focused on each task, following whatever directions his group was given, that he hadn’t registered it for hours. Now though, with Byleth forcing him to be still…

“I need to do something, Professor. I can’t just-” Sylvain took a shaky breath, the taste of metal reaching the back of his throat making it even harder to think. He coughed, hoping in vain that he could get rid of it. Instead, he felt as though the stench was drowning him. Reeling back from the floor, he struggled to force less-tainted air into his lungs. He half-heard the sound of the rag being dropped in the wash bucket, and suddenly he was being pulled away from the blood. 

“You haven’t even removed all of your armor. Please, Sylvain, come with me.” He felt Byleth tug the straps on his chestpiece, and then he could breathe again as the weight of it was lifted off of him. He felt a pang of guilt at the muffled hiss his professor made before the clatter of the armor hitting the ground, but he didn’t have it in him to apologize and simply gasped in desperate breaths. Sylvain didn’t have it in him to resist when Byleth helped him stand, either, or when the man’s good arm wrapped around him supportively. He dully registered that they were leaving everything for someone else to clean but allowed himself to be led away. 

Byleth was speaking to him, but the words he was saying wouldn’t stay in his head long enough for him to respond. Still, there was something reassuring about the sound of his voice. Sylvain was pretty sure it was what kept the feeling of suffocation at bay. And then they weren’t moving anymore and the arm steadying him was gone. He looked up, seeing that he’d been brought to the baths. Warm, humid air engulfed him as Byleth pushed the door open.  _ Clean _ air. 

“You-no,  _ we _ can rest here. The hot water will help the shaking.” Sylvain opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when the hand he reached out for the doorframe with trembled violently. Byleth held out his hand again, and this time Sylvain took it without hesitation. Once they were inside, he allowed himself to be lowered to a bench. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t a new recruit in the goddamned academy anymore, there was no reason for him to be acting this way. He took in several deep, slow breaths, bringing still-shaking hands to his face. The cold clamminess of them sent another lurch through his stomach and he couldn’t suppress a gag at the memory of soldiers cleaning up bodies that even from a distance he could tell were no longer whole. The sound apparently didn’t escape Byleth’s notice, as there was suddenly a hand on his back, stroking gently. 

“Do you need to get outside?” Sylvain swallowed heavily again and shook his head. He would be alright as long as he didn’t have to remember anymore. His heart was still pounding, but he forced himself to focus on his surroundings. The warmth of the air, the feeling of the smooth wood of the bench under his fingers, the sound of Byleth’s voice once again reassuring him. 

“Can you close your eyes, or does that make it worse?”    
  
“Worse.” Sylvain answered the moment the question was out of the other man’s mouth. He didn’t need to try it to know.    
  
“Will you be alright sitting here for a moment?” That question required more thought, but he was pretty sure that as long as he didn’t move he at least wouldn’t feel any worse. 

“Yes.” Apparently he was convincing enough, as the feeling of Byleth’s hand on his back disappeared. He listened as the man stepped away, every sound he made seeming loud in the empty space. The shifting of fabric, water sloshing, the thump of a basin, a soft sigh, water dripping from a washcloth, and then footsteps once again, coming to a stop beside him. Sylvain risked looking up. His head swam slightly, but the effect wasn’t as severe as he had been afraid of. He met his professor’s eyes for the first time since before his body had betrayed him back in the entryway, and realized that the man had washed the blood from his face and hair. The parts of his hair that hadn’t been dirtied were still dry, while the rest dripped water over the man’s undershirt. Had Byleth...cleaned himself up just enough to erase the glaring contrast of red on pale skin and light hair? Sylvain couldn’t imagine any other reason why the man would have left him only long enough to half-wash his hair. 

“...thank you.” He almost didn’t recognize his own voice, frail as it sounded in his ears. He was grateful there were no mirrors in this part of the bathhouse. He didn’t think he could stand to see himself right now; the look on Byleth’s face told him more than he wanted to know. 

“Would you like privacy, or do you need assistance?” Sylvain didn’t understand the question at first, and was about to ask the other man to repeat himself when the meaning of the words hit him. There was zero judgement in his professor’s tone. Zero disgust at the spectacle in front of him. He didn’t understand how. 

“...I don’t know,” he finally managed. His fingers had gone numb, and he was afraid that if he touched himself again and felt the same coldness he  _ would _ be sick this time. He didn’t really want to move at all. He wasn’t sure he could stand even if he did. “But don’t leave. Please.” Byleth gave him a quick nod, and somehow that small gesture filled Sylvain with relief, if only for a moment. 

“I’m going to get us a basin and some water, but I’m not going to leave.” If he’d been able to vocalize it Sylvain would have asked him to wait, but by the time he got the words together the other man was already walking away. It was probably for the better that he hadn’t. Even if not, it’s not as though he could pursue Byleth. He would just focus on the sounds behind him, and on the effort to keep the last bit of control he had.

“May I touch you?” The man’s voice startled him far more than it had any right to, and he couldn’t stifle a gasp. He hadn’t heard Byleth return, even though he’d been listening. At least, he thought he had...it didn’t matter, he supposed. 

“My hands. They’re...the problem.” Sylvain struggled to put into words what that actually meant, but his head ached and he realized that while he was alone he’d been clenching his teeth so hard that he could feel it in his jaw as he spoke. It seemed like that answer was enough for the older man to act, at least, as he felt warmth engulf his right hand. For a moment he thought it was Byleth’s hand but when it moved away he felt the air moving over his wet skin. A washcloth, then. He forced himself to let go of his tight grip on the bench, letting his professor guide his fingers into the hot water beside him. At first it felt searing. He tried to pull away, but a firm grasp on his wrist stopped him and soon his skin had adjusted to the temperature. Once he seemed satisfied that Sylvain was going to cooperate, Byleth began to gently rub his hand with the cloth again. The numbness didn’t entirely subside, but it lessened. It wasn’t as hard to move his right hand anymore, even if he did still feel like his attempts came half a second slower than they should. He raised his other hand, turning and leaning to reach for the water. Everything spun dizzyingly and he felt steadying hands on his chest and shoulder. 

“Slow movements, Sylvain.” It took everything he had not to ask Byleth to help him lie down. Instead he made a sound he hoped would be taken as agreement and made another, slower attempt. He thought about trying to take the washcloth, but it was already being used to rub feeling into his other hand. The other man took his time, turning and bending Syvain’s fingers as he worked. Then, suddenly, he stopped. He realized Byleth was watching him appraisingly. Had he been staring? Was that the problem?    
  
“Did that help?” Byleth asked softly. Sylvain risked a slow nod in response, carefully using his dominant hand to take the cloth and lift it out of the water. There was still a slight tremor to his movements, but he was able to wash his face without too much trouble. He was starting to get control over himself back, finally. 

“Professor, I...I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” Sylvain was ashamed, but more than that he was exhausted in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. He’d certainly never acted like this in front of another person, let alone one of the men he respected the most. He wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but surely Byleth had more important things to do than babysit a grown man who wasn’t even wounded. 

“Please, don’t apologize. I  _ wanted  _ to help you once I realized what was happening. You’re important to me, Sylvain.” The words sounded sincere, and the way the man was looking at him made it even more difficult to brush them off the way he wanted to. Sylvain didn’t deserve this, he knew that. But he believed Byleth anyway. The man had never once lied to him...not even when it would have been easy to do so.  _ Like pretending he was normal that night instead of confiding in me _ . He wanted to say so many things. To thank Byleth for everything he had done, apologize for the way he had treated him before, return the sentiment that had been directed at him. But all of it was a tangled mess he couldn’t get out. Eventually he had to give up, mouth opening and closing in a final failed attempt to speak as he did the only thing he could think to do; place his hand over Byleth’s and hope that his expression would convey his gratitude enough for now. His professor nodded, a rare half-smile on his face. 

“You must be exhausted. Would you like a hand getting back to your room? I think you could use rest more than a full bath.” 

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Sylvain took his time standing; even though he no longer felt like he was moments from passing out, he could feel the weakness of overexerted muscles strongly now and everything still felt heavy. When he reached for the basin of water, Byleth shook his head.    
  
“I’ll be coming back here afterwards, it’s alright.” 

“Okay. I owe you one, Professor.” Sylvain managed a smile at the older man before Byleth turned to lead the way out.  
  


The walk back was silent, but once they had reached his room Byleth checked to make sure there was nobody nearby, then stepped close to him.

“As far as the others are concerned, you were wounded in battle and I will have ordered bedrest for you after treating your injuries as best I could. Nobody will ask me for details.” Byleth’s tone was calm and certain as he spoke, making it clear that even though the knight wasn’t currently registered as injured the records would soon show otherwise.  _ Right,  _ Sylvain thought.  _ You don’t flaunt it but you have a lot of power around here, huh? _

“Thanks.” It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do for now. Byleth nodded at him before turning, and Sylvain watched him go. Once the other man had walked far enough away, Sylvain entered his room and sat heavily upon the bed. He should really get changed, he knew, but that felt like more effort than it was worth. He settled for stripping off his outer layer of clothing, letting it fall in a soiled pile before allowing himself to fall back onto the mattress. Tomorrow he could think about what had happened. He didn’t have it in him anymore tonight. 


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Sylvain was aware of was pain. He instinctively curled in on himself more, sending more sharp stabs down his arms and legs. Groaning out a curse, he forced himself into a sitting position and opened his eyes. He was still exhausted, physically as well as mentally, and he reeked of stale sweat and dirt. Blurred memories of the night before flooded back as he caught sight of the filthy outerclothes lying beside his bed, and he immediately wished they hadn’t. He’d made a disgusting spectacle of himself in front of Byleth the first time they’d had a chance to talk since the night his professor had confided in him. 

“What the hell is _ wrong _ with you?” he muttered bitterly to himself, brushing damp bangs away from his eyes. If only he could pretend the day before simply hadn’t happened. The last thing he wanted was to remember more of it, but he needed to wash the grime off of himself and that left him no choice other than a trip to the baths. He was parched and his head was pounding, signs he knew meant he was dehydrated. Thankfully the well outside the bathhouse could be used to slake his thirst, allowing him to handle both problems with one trip. He would just need to make across the grounds in his current state. 

Once Sylvain got himself together enough to leave his room, he realized that it had to be midday already. The sun was high and bright, and he leaned against his door for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust before he began down the halls of the monastery. The few soldiers he passed on his way paid his labored gait no mind, only one commenting at all and even then only to wish him a speedy recovery. Byleth had kept his word. Of course he had.

“You know me, babe. I’ll be good as new in no time.” Sylvain winked at the woman who’d stopped him, forcing a playful grin. It worked well enough, earning him a small giggle as he made his way past her. As far as he could remember he’d never spoken to her before in his life, but everyone knew what the only son of House Gautier was like. Gotta keep up appearances, after all. 

His lingering nausea wasn’t helped by the aroma coming from the dining hall as he drew near. The sour, sharp smell of something pickled filled the area and he held the bundle of clean clothes he’d brought with him against his face. If he could make it to the baths without being sick, they should at least be empty if food was actively being served. When he had finally forced his uncooperative legs up the stairs to the baths, he knelt by the well and drank his fill. 

Sylvain was relieved when his suspicions about the bathhouse were proved correct. He was the only one there. Once he had filled a washbasin with hot water he bent to lift it, his muscles struggling to obey him yet again. He managed to get it onto a bench, arms trembling. At least this weakness had a cause; he’d worked himself past his limits moving bodies and digging graves and he was paying for it. What he _ didn’t _know was what had come over him after Byleth had found him in the entryway. 

He began to scrub at his arms, only satisfied and moving on once the skin was pink from abrasion. The other man had been wounded, _ actually _ wounded, in the battle. Sylvain might not have been able to see exactly what shape Byleth’s arm was in, but the fact that it was still wrapped implied that he’d likely only accepted enough healing to stop the bleeding. But had he shown any concern whatsoever for his professor’s wellbeing? No, his first thought had been something about whether the man had ever had to explain to the healers that he was still alive. And then everything had fallen apart. He could only half-remember how they’d gotten to the baths, Byleth speaking to him so gently and washing Sylvain’s hands for him because he couldn’t touch himself without retching. His breath caught in his throat as he recalled the tenderness with which the other man had treated him. If it had been any other situation, with any other person, the intimacy of the act would have led them somewhere entirely different. It wasn’t as though he was unfamiliar with the concept of using casual physical contact as a precursor, after all, but something like the experience the previous night was entirely foreign. Byleth wasn’t a man who sought out touch or spoke unnecessary words, but he had kept speaking to him in that soft tone and remained in almost constant contact with him until he could think straight again. Reassured him and brought him to his room once he had himself together again, promising not only that he wouldn’t speak of the incident to anyone but altering the records of the battle to note him as wounded. 

How was he supposed to face his old teacher after this? Anyone else doing those things would want something from him, take advantage of the leverage they’d have over him in one way or another. That, he knew how to deal with. He _ wanted _ to think that the other man would come calling for favors once he’d recovered, because that was just what people did when they knew unflattering things about nobles. Sylvain threw the washcloth into the basin, disgusted with himself. Byleth wasn’t that type of person. He wasn’t sure that the man was _ capable _of being cruel or deceitful in that way. 

He was clean enough now to soak his muscles for a while, and if anyone came in it would be harder to tell he wasn’t actually injured with his body underwater. The last thing he needed was for the acting leader of the Church of Seiros to be revealed to be faking injury reports, though with how awfully he’d been treating the man lately it would just be the cap on everything if that got out, wouldn’t it? He slid his body into the water with a frustrated sigh. He wanted to come to grips with what had happened but all he was doing right now was worsening his headache. Resignedly he leaned back against the tub, forcing himself to focus on the effect the heat was having on his aching body. Clearly he wasn’t in any shape to think of anything more advanced than that. 

  
  


“You look terrible.” A familiar voice greeted him as he made his way carefully down the stairs of the bathhouse, using the wall as support as his legs threatened to give out with every step down.

“I see the charm lessons are finally paying off, Felix,” Sylvain laughed, giving his old friend the first sincere smile he’d managed in several days. They hadn’t had much time to talk lately, not with everything going on. He took a seat on one of the bottom steps, motioning for Felix to join him. It was obvious that the other man was on his way back to the training grounds after lunch, given the package Sylvain could see in his hand. Probably took his dinner ration early so he could train until after dark again. He was mildly surprised when Felix actually did walk over and take a seat beside him, but he was pretty sure he managed to keep it off his face. They sat in silence for a few moments before the other man sighed.

“You’re an idiot, taking cleaning duty when you’re injured. I knew you looked off but I just figured you were out too late the night before and that was why you were miserable.” 

“Didn’t think it was that bad. Guess I made it worse though, huh?” It wasn’t entirely surprising that Felix would have seen through him, but it still made his heart drop. Sylvain waited for the other man to continue, to tell him that he _ knew _, but all that came was a quiet scoff. He was still watching his friend for signs when he felt something drop into his lap. 

“Mercedes got her hands on sugar somehow so she baked a bunch of cakes. ‘To boost morale’, apparently.” Felix snorted disdainfully. “I told her no, but she insisted that it would be fine because she couldn’t make them as sweet this time. So that’s not just your serving but mine. I didn’t know what else to do with it.” 

“House Gautier, official cake disposal for House Fraldarius, reporting for service.” Sylvain couldn’t help it, he broke out in a genuine fit of laughter as he spoke. Felix rolled his eyes, but Sylvain could see the hint of a smile on his friend’s face. He couldn’t remember the last time they-no, he _ could _ remember. It had been before all of this, back when they were still students. He untied the knot on the fabric holding the cakes, looking them over. They resembled scones more than anything else, and were studded with berries. Sylvain brought one to his mouth, taking a small, cautious bite. He still felt vaguely ill, but he wasn’t sure that it was going to get any better without making himself eat something. 

“Delicious as always,” he declared, taking a moment both to savor the taste and see if it would worsen his nausea before he ate more. The scone was only the slightest bit sweet, somewhat overwhelmed by the tartness of the berries, and could use some cream or butter to accompany it but even with all of that he wasn’t lying when he praised it. He was impressed that she’d had the energy to bake after the battle yesterday. Assured that his stomach would accept the food, he finished the first scone quickly and re-wrapped the cloth around the other one. Brushing crumbs from his lap, he sighed contentedly. 

“Thank you, Felix.”

“You’re welcome. Just...don’t do anything this stupid again, okay?” Felix chided him, and Sylvain nodded his acknowledgement. The two of them sat for a few minutes more, enjoying the rare peaceful moment, before Felix stood. 

“I need to get some training in. I still have room to improve, and _ some _of us aren’t on bedrest.” The words lost a lot of their normal bite when paired with the way that his friend said them, and even more when Felix reached out to help him up. Sylvain accepted the help gratefully, grunting in pain as he rose from the cold stones. 

“You can beat me up for it in a few days, deal?” He considered it a victory that he got a chuckle out of the swordsman as they parted ways. It felt so good to have spoken with one of his oldest friends the way they had back before the war. 

The combination of a good soak and pleasant conversation had significantly improved his mood, making the trip back to his quarters much more tolerable. He’d almost forgotten the things weighing on him by the time he had made his way back through the long hallway to his room, but he was nonetheless more than ready to rest. Perhaps he would spend some time reading; there hadn’t been much time for things like that in a while. 

  
  
He awoke some time later to the sound of knocking at his door. He blearily lifted his face from the desk, slowly rising from the chair. He couldn’t recall how long ago it was that he’d gotten tired during his reading, but the stiffness in his back told him it must have been a while. 

“Sylvain, are you in?” As soon as he placed the voice, slightly muffled as it was by the door, his heart sank. He wasn’t ready to speak to Byleth, not yet. To be honest, he didn’t even want to see the man right now. He’d already stood up before the professor had spoken, though. He obviously knew that Sylvain was, indeed, in his room and was only being polite by asking. He couldn’t pretend otherwise without making it clear he wanted to be left alone and that would be the only thing worse than having to face him. 

“Just a sec, Professor. I fell asleep,” he called back. He let his hand rest on the doorknob a second to steel himself, then opened it. The man in front of him was holding a bowl with his good hand, the other held close to his body the same way it had been the night before. Byleth looked more tired than Sylvain could recall seeing him before, dark circles standing out under his eyes and his body language that of exhaustion. 

“I brought you some dinner,” the older man explained. Sylvain accepted the bowl, the smell of fresh fish and herb stew making his stomach growl. He stepped back to allow Byleth into the room, but the other man gave him a small smile and shook his head.  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t have time to stay, I simply wanted to check in on you and make sure you got a hot meal. Is there anything you needed?” 

“Nah, this alone is great. You remembered I like fish, huh?” The unwelcome thought that he had no idea what Byleth liked suddenly came to him, and he looked down at the stew to keep his professor from seeing the guilt on his face.  
  
“I remembered that we were both fond of this dish,” the other man replied. Sylvain tensed. _ Was that just chance, or did he somehow know what I was thinking? _ No, he was being foolish, it was a completely normal thing to say in response. He needed to stop looking for the worst with Byleth, but he wasn’t sure how to stop the thoughts from coming unbidden to his mind all the time.  
  
“It looks delicious, thank you.” To punctuate his words he took a bite of the stew, savoring the delicate flavor and texture of the whitefish. The meat was clearly freshly-caught, and even though it had cooled somewhat since it was served the meal was exactly what he needed. 

“I’m glad it turned out well. Please continue to rest, and send for me when you’d like to be put back onto active duty. You’ve still got several days scheduled regardless, so there’s no need to push yourself.” Byleth inclined his head respectfully, then turned to leave. Part of Sylvain wanted to stop him, but he knew it was better for the both of them that he didn’t. Perhaps by the time his body had recovered he would have untangled everything else as well. They could talk then. 

He closed the door once the professor had left, sliding the book he’d fallen asleep reading to the side of his desk so he could place the stew down. He really was starving, and the taste he’d taken for Byleth’s sake had been delicious. It wasn’t long before he was scraping the last of the meal from the sides of the bowl, and he remembered the other scone Felix had given him. He’d need to thank Mercedes the next time he saw her. She’d definitely be happy to hear that her baked goods were one of the highlights of his day, and she was perceptive enough to know that he would mean it this time. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emetophobia warning for this chapter.

By the evening of his third day of enforced rest, Sylvain had come to the conclusion that the readiness he’d been hoping to find wasn’t going to come. He hadn’t expected himself to be perfectly comfortable with everything that had happened, but he’d thought that at the very least he would be able to think about speaking with Byleth without stress gnawing at him. Clearly nothing would progress further between them without a conversation, even if he still didn’t know what, exactly, he was going to say.    
  


After a while of lying restlessly on the bed staring at the ceiling, he resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to get to sleep until he told the other man that he was ready to talk. He wasn’t entirely sure where Byleth spent his evenings, but something told him that he wouldn’t be in his quarters yet. He hadn’t heard Felix return to the dorms, so he couldn’t ask him about their professor’s location; the only option, it seemed, was to go on a bit of a walk.

Sylvain’s inquiries eventually led him to the cathedral. As he drew nearer to the damaged building, it became increasingly difficult to force himself to continue. Something about it made his heart race. Something that had nothing to do with awkward conversations. He briefly considered whether it was the fact that it showed more damage than a lot of the rest of the monastery, but no, that wasn’t it. It felt like there was something in the very air around the cathedral that radiated threat, and given the lack of any soldiers or monks around now that night had fallen, he knew it wasn’t simply his imagination. He stopped outside the entrance, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to steel himself. Instinct screamed at him to move slowly and quietly if he had to go through with this. One of the doors was already ajar, and he cautiously stepped through the doorway into the cathedral proper.   
  


Even the heavy damage to the ceiling wasn’t enough to properly illuminate the vast space. Several of the candelabras that normally would have been lit were dark, and he was about to dismiss the space as empty when he caught movement near the rubble at the back, silhouetted by the moonlight. 

“Why do you persist in wasting your time coming here? I have told you I have no need for you or your pity.” The level of venom in the deep voice froze Sylvain in his tracks before he made it through the doors. Dimitri’s heavy footfalls followed the words, coming from the shadows into what light there was. The sound of steel scraping on stone accompanied each step. He only realized that he had been holding his breath when the sounds stopped and another voice spoke.

“This needs to stop, Dimitri. You aren’t trying to survive alone anymore. Everyone-”   
  
“ _ Everyone  _ sees me for what I am and  _ leaves me alone _ ! Everyone except you,” Dimitri spat, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the cathedral along with his voice. “Get out.” 

“That won’t work on me any better than it has the previous nights.” Sylvain couldn’t understand how Byleth could possibly sound so calm. He was nowhere near the prince and he was struggling to fight the urge to flee, yet Byleth had actually been walking closer to him as he spoke. Even when what Sylvain could only assume was a broken lance flew past Byleth’s face, the other man didn’t flinch. From his position Sylvain couldn’t make out what Byleth set down on the ground in front of Dimitri, but he could hear the clatter as the larger man kicked whatever it was aside. He could hear the prince start muttering as he paced, and knew that he must be speaking to hallucinations again. 

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Byleth told him simply, before turning to leave. Sylvain wanted to cry out to him not to leave himself so vulnerable but he didn’t dare. He knew he needed to move, to get away before the thing that used to be his friend realized he had been watching, but it was all he could do to breathe. If he attempted to take a step, his legs would give out from under him and then before he could recover Dimitri would be looking down at him with pure hatred. Byleth wouldn’t have time to save him; he had seen enough of what the prince’s tremendous strength could do before he’d lost his mind, let alone now. There would be no spark of life, let alone recognition, in his old friend’s eye as he murdered him. He wouldn’t be one of Dimitri’s ghosts, no. He would have to be remembered for that and the way the prince had looked at him that first day made it clear that he either didn’t recall, or didn’t care. He would just be-

“I’m sorry you had to see him like that,” Byleth’s voice cut through his racing thoughts, and he felt a hand pull firmly on his arm to lead him away from the cathedral.    
  


He followed numbly until he could no longer keep himself upright and fell to his knees on the bridge, heaving over the side. Thoughts of Dimitri’s atrocities filled his head, crowding out everything else. He’d heard stories,  _ goddess  _ had he heard the stories of Imperial camps utterly annihilated. Bodies left unrecognizable and brutalized. He could feel Byleth’s arms wrap around him, steadying him as he retched. He’d forced himself not to think about what Dimitri had done every day since he’d come back to the monastery and found out the man was still alive. Buried it all so well that he hadn’t even realized himself why he felt ill every day. But now it was overwhelming everything else. 

Byleth was talking to him, but he didn’t register the words. He was still hearing Dimitri, roaring threats and promising voices that weren’t there that he’d tear off Edelgard’s head and present it as a trophy to the dead. The arms around him vanished, and he could hear hurried footfalls moving away from him. His stomach clenched again, preventing him from asking any questions, and he was left gasping for breath afterwards. The bridge was silent now, aside from his ragged breathing and coughs, and he finally properly realized that Byleth was gone.  _ Of course he’s gone, all you do to him lately is force him to tend to you like a sick child.  _ He’d made sure he wouldn’t fall over the edge of the bridge, and Sylvain owed him for that, but it was just another in the list of shameful things he’d done lately in front of a man he deeply respected.

“Here, Sylvain.” Byleth was beside him again suddenly. He turned weakly to face the other man, and saw that the professor had gone to the well and returned with a bucket of water. After setting it down on the stones, Byleth cupped his hands and scooped up some water, holding them to Sylvain’s mouth. Before he could think about it, Sylvain obediently accepted the water, swishing it around his mouth before spitting over the side of the bridge. Byleth moved aside when he turned to the bucket himself, gathering several more mouthfuls of water and repeating the process. Once he was satisfied, Sylvain picked up the bucket and used the remaining water to wash away the evidence of his sickness.

“Must’ve eaten something off,” he managed hoarsely. Even as he was saying it he knew Byleth wouldn’t let things go the way he should, and sure enough the man’s hand was on his shoulder a moment later. 

“You don’t need to lie, Sylvain.” Once again, that gentle tone of voice that made his heart drop. Sylvain wanted to push the man away, to do something that would force him to stop talking to him like he wasn’t a disgrace. One incident had been bad enough, but now…

“Can’t even keep my dinner down and I’m supposed to lead a noble house someday. I won’t blame you when you take me off the roster.” This time he made no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice. He went to stand, wanting nothing more than to escape Byleth’s knowing gaze boring into him, and was mildly surprised when the older man stepped back respectfully. 

“I told you before that you don’t need to be ashamed, and I was telling you the truth. My father taught me many things I didn’t fully understand until I came to the monastery. One of them was how to handle what you’re going through. I want you to know I will understand and accept if you decline, but I’m asking you; will you come with me back to my quarters?” Sylvain couldn’t hold back a humorless laugh at the sincerity of Byleth’s request. By all rights the man should be mocking him. Anyone else asking him that in this situation certainly would be, and that just made it all the more painful. 

“You have better things to do, Professor.” As he walked past Byleth, Sylvain expected the other man to grab his arm, force him to stay and listen, but nothing of the sort happened. 

“You came to request that I reinstate you, correct? I’ll ensure you’re back on regular duty starting tomorrow.” Byleth sounded  _ hurt _ as he spoke, and that was what froze Sylvain in his tracks. A crushing sense of guilt seized him, mingling with emotions he wasn’t ready to grapple with. Every single time the older man had something he could hold over his head and coerce him with, he’d go out of his way to give Sylvain the power in the situation once again, let him be the one in control. Instinct told him to throw it back in Byleth’s face and make him regret it the same way he would anyone else, but he found he just...couldn’t. Instead, he turned again to meet the former mercenary’s eyes. 

He expected, even after hearing the man’s voice, to see the usual blank expression. Perhaps a hint of disdain or anger at not being obeyed. Not the most obvious, clear look of concern he had ever seen on Byleth’s face. The last of his resolve gave in.

“Professor...I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he finally admitted, a frustrated sound escaping him as he let his gaze fall back to the ground. Maybe if he was finally honest about it, something could actually change.

“You’re…” Byleth paused, as if struggling to find the right words, “particularly important to me, Sylvain.” Sylvain tensed at the man’s phrasing.  _ Particularly important to me _ . Hadn’t that been what Byleth had said the night of the battle as well? He’d dismissed it easily as empty reassurance then, and only half-remembered it anyway. He wanted to deflect, joke about how a guy could get the wrong idea with phrasing like that, but he truly wasn’t sure whether he was  _ supposed _ to read more into the words than their surface meaning. 

Byleth had confided in him that he was interested in men, yes, but that didn’t mean he was interested in him personally and even if at one point he had been, surely that wouldn’t have lasted through the last week. Even with that certainty, though, Sylvain wasn’t sure he had it in him to hear it made explicit tonight. The silence between them stretched too long, but he was still at a loss for words. He settled for walking back to where Byleth still stood, hoping that it would convey the desired message while he struggled to figure out what to say. 

"I have a sizable amount of paperwork to review before I retire for the night, so you will not be waking me if you stop by later. Please take all the time you need to decide if you’re still uncertain.” Byleth was the one to finally speak, offering him yet another escape if he wanted to take it. Had he originally planned to spend however long dealing with Sylvain’s problems and then handle his actual duties afterwards? He found himself wondering when, exactly, the former mercenary slept, and that made him feel even worse for considering accepting the offer. But if Byleth  _ were _ able to help him...

“I’m sorry for all of this,” he finally managed, burying a hand in his hair anxiously. He wasn’t sure if he could ever look his professor in the eyes again after all of this, but the prospect of returning to his own quarters alone and continuing to pretend felt even worse. Byleth’s hand brushed against his arm as the older man began to walk, inviting him along. Sylvain forced down his desire to question the gesture aloud, sparing one last look behind him at the ruined cathedral before beginning to follow. It was hard to imagine that place ever feeling safe again.


	5. Chapter 5

The walk to Byleth’s quarters was mercifully quiet, giving Sylvain a bit of time to reflect on what, exactly, the man had planned for him once they arrived. The further they got from the cathedral the easier it was for him to stop the invasive thoughts about Dimitri from returning. An anxious sort of nausea still gnawed at his stomach when he thought about the man, but it was nothing compared to what had gripped him on the bridge. As they neared the stairs to the bathhouse, he paused in front of them. 

“You mind if I wash my face real quick? I feel like I look awful.” The cool evening air had dried the cold sweat on his face as they walked, but he could still feel the remnants of it on his skin. 

“Of course. I had been planning to make a trip to the dining hall for some hot water, so I’ll go on ahead. My quarters are unlocked, feel free to let yourself in once you finish here.” Byleth nodded at him politely before continuing on across the grounds. Sylvain gratefully made his way into the baths, only sparing a moment’s thought to whether the man was being entirely truthful. 

With the knowledge that Byleth wouldn’t be waiting on him, Sylvain took a few extra minutes to refresh himself. He knew he probably still looked pale as he left the warmth of the baths, but at least he could be assured that there were no other signs of his earlier sickness. 

Byleth’s room was still empty when Sylvain reached it, and he felt as though he were somehow transgressing by entering, despite the man’s explicit instructions. Just as Byleth had implied, the room’s desk had a thick sheaf of papers on it, with a much smaller one on the side that he could only assume was what he’d had been able to get done earlier that day. Not wanting to risk disturbing the paperwork, Sylvain instead leaned against the dresser along the far wall as he waited. Part of him wanted to pace in order to get rid of some of his nervous energy, but that would look even more questionable if anyone came by. The fact that there was no second chair in the room for him at least confirmed one thing; Byleth truly hadn’t planned all of this ahead of time. 

It felt like an eternity before the door finally opened, and Sylvain couldn’t help but jump slightly when the silence was broken. 

“I apologize for the wait.” Byleth set a tray on the small bedside table, moving it into the middle of the room between the desk and bed before turning the chair around to face it. For a moment he feared that the older man would use it himself, but thankfully he instead set about pouring the tea to both of them. 

“Nah, I’m the one putting you out Professor.” The reply was automatic, but even if he’d taken the time to think about it Sylvain doubted he would have said anything different. He didn’t have the energy to be playful right now, and Byleth deserved honest responses with all that the man was doing for him. Sitting down at the table, Sylvain inhaled the sharp scent wafting up from the cup of tea. 

“It’s a mixture of ginger and mint,” Byleth explained before he could ask. Of course. He had been sick, after all. He took a cautious sip, and was surprised that the mild burn felt somewhat pleasant. It wasn’t something he would drink for enjoyment, but right now it seemed right. Looking across the table at his professor calmly seated on his bed, watching him with a passive expression, it was impossible not to remember better days. How many times had they shared tea and sweets during the last year at the academy? 

“Thank you, Professor. I really do appreciate it.” Sylvain tried to focus on the spiciness of the tea in front of him instead of allowing himself to dwell too long on those memories. Perhaps someday he could enjoy them again, but right now it just  _ hurt _ to think about how things had been before the war and everything that had come with it. He took another sip, holding the liquid in his mouth for as long as he could stand before swallowing. 

“Are you ready, or would you like some more time?” Byleth leaned forward as he spoke, blowing at his own cup of tea to cool it before taking a small drink. Sylvain wanted to tell the older man that he would never be ready, or ask what exactly he expected him to say, but the time for such things had passed the moment he agreed to come to the man’s chambers and so he simply nodded. 

“All right. How often have you been vomiting?” Whatever question he’d been expecting Byleth to lead with, it certainly hadn’t been that. Sylvain tensed, biting back the desire to snap at him. It was a valid question, especially given the circumstances that had led them here. 

“That was the first time,” he replied, cringing at the defensiveness in his voice. Byleth made a small noise of acknowledgement, as he’d been caught mid-drink when Sylvain responded. Once he was able, he set the cup down and rested his hands on the table.    
  
“Are you sure? I recall that you were nearly ill in the baths as well.” 

“That time it was-” Sylvain cut himself off, then sighed. “My hands were cold and clammy and it made me remember the soldiers cleaning up the battlefield. Where... _ he _ had been fighting.” Sylvain could hear his own breathing, and he had no doubt that Byleth had noticed it as well.    
  
“Flashbacks,” the older man confirmed simply. The term was vaguely familiar to Sylvain, but he didn’t know whether or not it was correct. He shrugged, hoping the man would continue. 

“Have you had other symptoms? Sleeplessness, nightmares, other attacks like the one on the night of the battle?”    
  
“No. Nothing like that night.” He might not have been getting the best sleep since returning to the monastery, but it wasn’t like he laid awake until dawn. He doubted anyone slept as soundly as they used to around here. He wasn’t alone there. Byleth seemed to be keenly observing him when he managed to meet his eyes again, and he could feel himself flush as a wave of anxiety washed over him. He poured more tea into his still half-full cup, mostly to do  _ something _ .

“Has Dimitri threatened you?”  _ Not the way he threatened you _ , Sylvain thought, setting the teapot down with hands that suddenly felt less steady. 

“No. I’ve been...avoiding him,” he admitted, not wanting to voice aloud the fact that he was more afraid of the prince right now than he was the Empire. At least he knew where he stood with Imperial soldiers, knew that he stood a chance against them. The creature inhabiting Dimitri’s body, strengthened inhumanly by his Crest, on the other hand…

“I think that’s for the best right now,” Byleth’s voice was back to that soft tone Sylvain had only heard during shameful moments like this one, and once again it triggered the same confusing swirl of emotions, “though I must admit I’m glad to hear that he hasn’t. I was concerned after seeing your reaction earlier.” Byleth folded his hands as he spoke, his own tea seemingly forgotten at the edge of the table. The older man looked uncomfortable, which only intensified his own shame. 

“I know it’s pathetic, you don’t have to dance around it.” Sylvain had done his best to be open to his professor’s offer to help him, but he couldn’t take seeing Byleth’s mask of concern slip. He should have known better. He  _ had _ known better but then he’d allowed himself to wind up here anyway because the other man had made him truly believe that it would turn out differently. 

“ _ Sylvain _ .” The other man’s voice almost sounded pleading, but no, he must just be misinterpreting the other man’s emotions. After all, hadn’t Byleth told him that he’d only recently learned to feel anything? Even as he tried to convince himself of the likelihood he was misreading the tone, though, another part of him recalled how clear the other man’s expression of concern had been earlier that evening. For all the times he’d had a blank expression when there should have been something showing, there had never been a time where Byleth had shown an emotion he wasn’t actually feeling. A single thought suddenly cut through everything else;  _ Did Byleth even know  _ ** _how_ ** _ to fake what he was feeling? _

“That isn’t what I meant to imply,” Byleth’s words interrupted his racing thoughts, “I...” he trailed off, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a disappointed sigh. Sylvain looked up reflectively at the sound, and his heart sank at the look on Byleth’s face. 

“I was worried about what might have happened between you. Whether I’d been mistaken in believing he could still be saved.” The former mercenary’s words lacked their usual assuredness, coming out almost weak. The confession felt like a heavy weight on Sylvain’s chest as he recalled the way the man had spoken to Dimitri and the certainty the guard he’d asked had directed him to the cathedral with. How many times had the scene he’d witnessed played out already? He’d made the natural assumption that Byleth’s archbishop duties added onto everything else were the reason the man looked more tired these days, but how many hours had he spent in the ruins visiting Dimitri as if the person he used to be was still in there somewhere? His stomach twisted painfully, and he forced himself to down the now-cooled cup of tea to stave off the nausea. The ginger powder had settled to the bottom, and he nearly coughed at the strength as he finished it off. The burn helped to ground him, but he couldn’t stop himself from a shaky exhale. 

“Professor...I’m sorry, I-” Sylvain cut himself off; how had he planned to finish that sentence when he’d started it? Too many conflicting thoughts all fought to reach the forefront, once again leaving him at a loss for words at the worst time. He buried his head in his hands, elbows resting on the table. All he could think to do was to address the root of everything and hope that Byleth would understand.    
  
“I don’t know how to deal with any of this. When I heard he’d been executed I hoped for a long time that it was a lie meant to demoralize us. But eventually, you know, you need to accept it. So I mourned and kept defending Gautier territory because what else could I do? I should be happy he’s alive. But, that revenant wearing his face…” Sylvain drew in a shuddering breath, fingers tightening in his hair. He couldn’t bring himself to voice aloud the thoughts he’d had about Dimitri, the disgust he felt with both what the prince had become and with himself for wishing the dead had stayed that way. He didn’t try to appeal for the other man to try to understand how he felt; it would have been even more of an empty gesture than normal if the former mercenary attempted to commiserate with him. 

“As you may have gathered, I have been visiting Dimitri daily. I bring him food, I speak to him, I try to give him a reprieve from the voices of the dead who haunt him.” Somehow the fact that Byleth’s voice was level again gave Sylvain a small measure of comfort even though the words did anything but. He couldn’t imagine doing the things the other man was describing; even Felix had stopped mentioning any attempts to deal with the ‘beast prince’. 

“It’s...very difficult to listen to him speak, to see-” Byleth hesitated, “-to see his behavior, but despite all of that he has never tried to lay a hand on me during those meetings. I don’t think he’s entirely lost to the world, regardless of his claims to the contrary.” 

“I wish I could believe that.” The words came out in a weak voice, filled with far too much genuine emotion. He let himself slump forward even more, hands sliding from his hair to rest on the back of his neck as he cursed at himself. There had been several times he’d immediately regretted saying something sharp and unjustified and struggled to take it back, but he’d at least kept the  _ pain _ out of his voice.  _ Please don’t use that voice on me right now, I can’t take it _ , he begged silently as he waited for Byleth to speak. 

The sound of the teapot being lifted made Sylvain flinch, and he raised his head slightly for the first time since he’d given in and told the older man what was truly weighing on him. He barely caught Byleth leaning over and setting it on the ground in front of the bed, and then the other man was reaching across the small table, one hand coming to rest on his back and the other wrapped gently around one of his forearms. Inches from Sylvain’s face. 

“You don’t need to.” Sylvain didn’t know whether it was Byleth’s unhesitating acceptance of his lack of faith or the way he said it that made the breath hitch in his throat. He raised his head to meet the older man’s eyes, needing to know what he would see in them, and to get an answer to the question that had been eating at him since the night Byleth had taken his hand and put it over where his heart should have been. 

“You have feelings for me, don’t you Professor?” His own heart was pounding as though their roles were reversed as he watched first shock, then guilt, cross over Byleth’s face. 

“I’ve come to that conclusion as well,” the man admitted softly, before fixing him with a look that Sylvain could only think of as desperation as he continued, “I promise you I had never been expecting any reciprocation. I’m well aware this is neither the time nor place.” The hand on Sylvain’s back momentarily tightened around the fabric of his shirt before slowly withdrawing along with the one around his arm. He didn’t know whether he wanted to stop Byleth from pulling away or not, and by the time he’d decided it was too late either way. 

“Yeah, it isn’t, is it?” Sylvain laughed humorlessly, “But I trust you, and it’s one less question clouding my mind.” It was hard for him to believe that Byleth wouldn’t have been turned away by what they’d seen of him, but again he felt no doubt about the sincerity of the older man’s response. What he didn’t know was where they were supposed to go from here. 

“Sylvain-”   
  
“I can’t reciprocate  _ or  _ turn you down,” Sylvain cut the other man off as soon as he’d started, needing to make sure Byleth understood what he was actually trying to say. “I needed to know if I was seeing something that wasn’t there.” He realized that he’d put a hand over the spot on his arm where Byleth’s had been a minute before, trying to replace the lost warmth. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, both of them watching the other and struggling for the right thing to say. Once again, it was Byleth who spoke first.

“I will respect any decision you come to in time. It’s entirely your choice if and when we speak of this again. However, I would like you to send for me if you’re experiencing another difficult night.” 

“Thank you, Professor.” Sylvain wanted to tell the man that the offer wouldn’t be necessary, but Byleth had respected him enough to him the truth time after time; he owed him the same courtesy finally. Omitting active lies would have to be a start. There were so many things he longed to ask before he left, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to get them out. Not tonight. Leaving the conversation where it was appealed to him just as little, though.    
  
“...can I have another cup of tea before I go?” He slid his cup closer to the center of the table, hoping that the request would serve as a peace offering. Byleth looked surprised, but nodded and brought the teapot up from the floor, swirling the liquid inside for a few moments before pouring some in both cups. There was no light conversation, but he found himself remembering the past again as he watched Byleth quietly sip at the potent tea. Unspoken words still weighed down the atmosphere of the room, but the air felt lighter than it had minutes before and that would have to be enough for tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

While Sylvain still felt ill in the days that followed when he found himself dwelling on thoughts of Dimitri, there were fewer moments when he couldn’t focus for it. He had not needed to send for Byleth in the nights since they’d shared tea, but he had sought the man out for conversation during dinner once or twice. Whenever they weren’t alone Byleth treated him identically to the way he had before that night’s conversation, and even when it was just the two of them he could see the effort the older man put into holding back on physical contact. Sylvain couldn’t ignore the pang of guilt that hit him every time he watched the man begin to move before catching himself, and the more he thought about it the more he realized that he missed the comfort those touches provided. 

If only it were as easy as that. He’d already been ignoring the hints by telling himself that Byleth might not be aware of what he was doing, so the conclusion he came to wasn’t exactly a shock. Nor was it particularly a problem for him that they were both men. No, the problem ran far deeper than that. After all, what did he actually know about caring for another person? He’d spent his life going out of his way to flirt with just about anything that moved specifically because there was no point in him getting attached to anyone. It had been a game, with perhaps more than a little spite and self-destruction. Who cares if almost everyone thinks you’re human garbage as long as you’re the one in control of why? 

Some people saw through it, of course; mostly Felix and Ingrid, but Dorothea had him pegged pretty quickly. They were alike, after all. They’d never gotten particularly close before the war, but there had been a mutual respect. Sometimes he wondered about her, but like when he recalled the others who’d chosen a different path, he was quick to push the thoughts away. There was too much on his mind already without thinking about what-ifs. 

He truly didn’t want to hurt Byleth. That, in a way, was really the problem. He could have easily given the other man tips on how to flirt, but when it came to having an actual relationship he was almost as lost as Byleth was. At least his professor had a good reason and hadn’t brought it entirely on himself. Part of him felt like the best thing for him to do would be to just leave things where they were. If he didn’t take action, Byleth would eventually move on and find someone better, wouldn’t he? But no matter how much Sylvain tried to convince himself, he knew that the other man wasn’t someone he could count on to act the way he should. He didn’t deserve to be left waiting indefinitely for an answer that would never come. 

Before he had figured out exactly how he wanted to approach the conversation he knew they needed to have, Byleth called a strategy meeting to discuss their next tactical move. Rodrigue had agreed to ally with them, and they would rally at Ailell at the end of the month. Felix took news of his father’s arrival about as well as expected, and nobody else was particularly excited to step foot in the Valley of Torment. When the meeting had been dismissed, Sylvain grabbed Felix’s arm before he could storm off. 

“I think we could both use some time at the training ground, wanna join me?” As he’d expected, Felix yanked his arm out of his grip. He did not, however, leave. It was obvious that he was furious; they’d done this dance more than enough times for him to be easy to read. There was no need to talk about the strategic importance of having Rodrigue’s backing, how they needed as much manpower as possible let alone someone as talented as his father. None of that would change how Felix felt about the situation. The best thing would be to give him some company. 

“I thought you’d given up training with how rarely I’ve seen you there,” Felix scoffed at him, crossing his arms as he stared challengingly into Sylvain’s eyes. Sylvain shrugged.    
  
“If we all lived there like you, there wouldn’t be any space to practice.” Truth be told, Felix wasn’t even wrong. He  _ had  _ been at the training grounds less often the last few days, and even if it wasn’t also the best way to give his friend companionship right now, he needed to be in top form if they were going to be fighting somewhere so inhospitable to life. 

  
  


They weren’t the only ones who had hit the training ground right after the meeting, but there was more than enough room for them to spar. Once they had geared up, Felix gave him no chance to consider an opening. They’d fought countless times by now, ironing out each other’s tells and helping each other develop new tactics, but one thing Sylvain could always count on was that Felix wouldn’t give him a second to breathe. 

“You’re leaving yourself even more open than usual,” Felix only spoke after he’d staggered him with a forceful hit to the side, yanking Sylvain’s lance out of his hands when he stumbled then kicking him back. Sylvain barely kept himself upright, knowing perfectly well that if Felix got him down on his knees he would regret it. 

“Yeah, yeah. Guess I’m getting rusty from not spending half the day here like you,” Sylvain grinned at his friend, one arm wrapped around his stomach. He hoped that Felix would take the bait today. 

“Start with half an hour,” Felix retorted, tossing the spear back at him and beginning to circle before Sylvain had even caught it. There was something freeing about training, especially with Felix; there was no time to get caught up in thoughts about anything outside of his next move.    
  


By the time they called it, they were both scuffed and bruised. Felix had gotten him with several more good hits to the ribs and chest, and in return Sylvain had accidentally bloodied the shorter man’s lip with the shaft of the lance during a counter. From the genuine smile on his friend’s face, though, he had no doubt that Felix was feeling better after the session. It’d done him good as well; it was nice to be the right kind of tired again. He wasn’t sure if Byleth would be too occupied with planning to speak with him tonight, but he owed the man a proper answer. Sylvain would seek him out at dinner; if he sent a request asking for his time it would most likely be interpreted as something more immediately severe. Not that this conversation wasn’t important, but it wasn’t the type of thing Sylvain wanted Byleth to set aside necessary preparations for. 

Distracted as he was with going over what he was planning to say, it was only after he had already set down his food on the table that Sylvain realized the similarities to the night that had set all of these events into action. Byleth looked up from his meal at him with mild interest as he struggled anew with whether this would be an appropriate time. 

“Good evening, Sylvain.” As always, the man’s voice was calm and level in the loud dining room. He wasn’t sure whether it was wrong of him to be impressed with how easily Byleth seemed to compartmentalize. Or perhaps it was more difficult for the older man to express emotion the way he had when they were alone? He doubted he would ever have the courage to ask. 

“Hey Professor,” Sylvain sat down carefully, resigning himself to the knowledge that Byleth would know if he pretended to have nothing in particular on his mind. “I wanted to follow up on what we talked about last week.” He kept his tone light, but met the other man’s eyes across the table with grave seriousness. The flash of surprise on Byleth’s face was gone almost as soon as Sylvain registered it, replaced with that passive look again.   
  
“I’m afraid that I have…” Byleth’s eyes flickered to the tray in front of him, laden with more food than the man could be planning to eat himself, “other commitments following dinner, but if it’s acceptable to you I can stop by your quarters later tonight.” Sylvain couldn’t keep his body from tensing as the meaning of the man’s words sunk in. He wished he could tell Byleth that dancing around the topic of Dimitri wasn’t necessary, but even the allusion to him was enough to set him on edge. 

“If you get a chance, yeah, but if things come up, I get it.” He forced a smile at first, but thought better of it and allowed his anxiousness to show on his face. Nobody was paying any attention to them anyway. Byleth shook his head. 

“I’ll be able to make it,” the other man assured him, and this time Sylvain successfully bit back the doubt he wanted to express. He knew he didn’t deserve this much of the acting archbishop’s time, but it wouldn’t do any good to voice that.  _ He wants you to finally reject him so he can stop thinking about it _ .  _ Maybe that’d be better for both of you _ . Before he was able to spend more time considering the idea, Byleth spoke again. 

“A lot of the preparations are still in progress. There’s only so much I can do until we’ve determined exactly how many supplies we’ll be able to bring to Ailell given the terrain and less-than-ideal conditions, so you won’t be taking me away from anything vital.” He wasn’t sure if Byleth knew what he’d been thinking or if the information was going to be provided regardless, but in the end did it matter? As much as he still struggled to believe in it, Byleth’s interest in him had never come off as anything other than sincere. Of course he would want closure regardless of what answer he got. Sylvain nodded to acknowledge that he’d heard, staring down at his still-untouched food. A renewed sense of doubt was gnawing at him, but he tried to fight it back. 

“Thanks, Professor. I’ll look forward to it.” Before the words were even fully out of his mouth he regretted them.  _ He _ wasn’t even certain if they’d been sincere, so how was he supposed to clarify them for Byleth? It definitely wasn’t the type of thing you’d say if you were planning to reject someone, not if you had a heart. Guilt twisted around in his chest as the irony of the thought hit him. 

“If you’ll excuse me…” Sylvain heard the sound of Byleth’s chair sliding back and he looked across the table. More of the food on the other man’s tray was still untouched than he would have expected, and he found himself hoping that Byleth had eaten more than it seemed he had. 

“Be careful.” Sylvain managed after what felt like far too long.  _ Don’t do it,  _ he wanted to say instead. Byleth assured him he would in the tone that always left him conflicted, and then he left Sylvain to grapple with his thoughts alone.    
  


Despite that assurance, it was impossible for him to keep from worrying as dusk turned into full night with no sign of the older man. He went through the usual motions, polishing his armor and changing into his sleep clothes as though it were a normal evening. His attempts to reassure himself that Byleth had simply been pulled aside for something were only so effective in banishing the mental images that overwhelmed him when he thought of what  _ could _ have happened. Even if it was true that Dimitri had never laid a hand on Byleth in previous visits, marching to Ailell instead of advancing towards Enbarr could have been the last straw.  _ There would be chaos if the archbishop had been injured and it’s quiet out there _ , he told himself, and chewed on a piece of the dried ginger Byleth had given him days before.   
  


A mixture of relief and renewed anxiety swept over him when he finally heard a knock at his door. He half-wondered if the older man could hear the sound of his heart pounding when he answered, hoping that he didn’t look nearly as worried as he felt. 

“I apologize for the delay. Seteth and I had a disagreement that took some time to resolve,” Byleth was sincerely apologetic, and Sylvain could tell that he knew exactly what had been going through his mind while he waited. It looked as if he were about to follow up on the statement, but his expression changed from guilt to concern as he got a proper look at Sylvain. For a second he was confused, until he looked down and saw the dark bruises poking out from the neck of his shirt. Unconsciously he brought a hand up to cover the most obvious one. 

“Felix never takes it easy on me,” he shrugged, knowing that would suffice as enough explanation. Sure enough, Byleth seemed satisfied with the answer. Sylvain watched him as he cautiously entered the room, almost reaching out to run a hand along the older man’s arm as he passed. If Byleth noticed, he didn’t give any indication as he sat down. 

“I wish I could have arrived on time…” Byleth sighed, shaking his head, “Thank you for inviting me, Sylvain.” Byleth’s seated posture was somewhat stiff, at odds with the gentleness with which he spoke. Was he actually  _ nervous _ ? It seemed so unnatural to consider, but maybe that was a side effect of things Sylvain had projected onto him. 

“I know I made you wait for an answer, but I needed time to think…” Sylvain ran a hand through his hair, trying to silence the part of him that still yelled for him to reconsider what he was about to do. 

“You’ve come to a decision then?” For once, Byleth seemed to be struggling to keep his voice neutral, and Sylvain wished that he had a simple answer for the older man instead of the mess of uncertainty that had been paralyzing him. 

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath, then another when the words wouldn’t come out. “You know my reputation, right Professor? Constantly philandering? Think I told you about it long ago.” He knew that what the man was waiting for was a yes or a no, but he couldn’t give one without talking about this first. 

“Yes. You’d resigned yourself to an arranged marriage because of your Crest, and dealt with it by toying with others.” Sylvain was surprised how much it hurt to hear his behaviour laid out so bluntly by Byleth. It was entirely true, and he’d owned up to it plenty of times in the past, but hearing it from someone who nonetheless professed to have feelings for him was a lot worse. He didn’t have it in him to ask  _ why _ Byleth cared about him; he needed to get the rest of his thoughts out. 

“Harsh but true. Anyway, the point is I’m not good at actual relationships. Never really cared about anyone I dated, if you could even call it that. I don’t know-” he sighed, closing his eyes so he could pretend that he was speaking to an empty room, “I don’t know how to be sincere with that stuff. I’ve spent the last few days fighting with myself, trying to convince myself that the best thing for both of us would be for me to turn you down. And I’m probably still being selfish, but I…” The words wouldn’t come, all the times he’d casually said them or things like them echoing in his head. How was he supposed to just forget all of that and make statements like  _ I care for you  _ now that he actually meant them? 

“I’m unfamiliar with how to approach this as well;” Byleth’s voice was gentle and almost halting as he continued, “am I correct in understanding that you’d like to move forward?” 

“I hope I won’t make you regret your choices, Professor.” Sylvain forced himself to look at Byleth, to meet his eyes with what he hoped wasn’t a desperate look. He watched nervously as the other man considered what he’d said and a silence fell over the room. Eventually, Byleth rose and stepped closer to him, voice soft.   
  
“I would be most comfortable allowing you to continue determining the borders of our relationship, whatever they might be.” Byleth held out a hand that stopped several inches away from Sylvain’s arm, looking to him for confirmation that he would be okay with physical contact. A mix of emotions flooded him at the sight, one of the most confusing being pity. He nodded his assent, and the other man’s fingers wrapped gently around his forearm. Byleth’s thumb stroked reassuringly along the underside of his arm through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Sylvain hissed in pain before he could stop himself. 

“Defended myself from one of Felix’s swings right there,” he explained quickly, before Byleth could misunderstand the sound. The other man seemed relieved, but let go nonetheless. After considering for a moment, Byleth slid Sylvain’s shirt sleeve up to investigate.    
  
“Would you like me to treat you?” Byleth carefully traced a finger over the bruised skin as he spoke. They both knew the bruises would heal on their own within days, but it would be more convenient if he took the offer. Instinct told him to deflect it with a joke, but he caught himself.    
  
“If you have the energy, I won’t say no.” He turned his arm so that the marks were more easily accessible, and Byleth nodded. The other man’s expression was focused as held Sylvain’s arm in his hands, both physical and magical warmth soaking into his skin at Byleth’s touch.

He watched as Byleth’s eyes focused on the exposed skin of his chest uncertainly, the unspoken question clear on his face. Sylvain’s heart rate quickened, and he took a steadying breath before he undid several of the buttons on his shirt.  _ This isn’t the first time he’s healed you _ , he chastised himself. But it  _ would _ be the first time after they’d acknowledged a mutual interest. 

Byleth took another step towards him, and then there was warm breath on his skin accompanied by the feeling of him sliding Sylvain’s shirt off of one shoulder. He heard his own breath catch in his throat at the sensation, and regretted it as as the other man froze. Nothing he could think of to say seemed right, and he settled for hoping that not moving away would convey the right message. A few tense moments passed before Byleth cautiously began to heal the worst of the bruising on his chest, and he paused again before his fingers traced over Sylvain’s ribs to treat the damage there as well. When Byleth’s hands moved away he could still feel the ghost of the man’s touch lingering on him. He could only assume that the man didn’t know about the slight flush on his face, standing out all the more against locks of pale green hair. 

“Thank you, Professor.” He did his best to make the words sound casual, quickly re-buttoning his shirt. They were both far too old to be dancing around things this way, he knew, but he’d always been careless in the past and he didn’t want Byleth to pay for it. Not if they were actually going to try to make this work. 

“I’m...happy to help.” From the way the other man spoke, it was clear he was equally unsure of what to say right now. There was some comfort in that, he supposed. Almost before he knew he was doing it, Sylvain brought a hand up and brushed the hair away from Byleth’s face. The way the other man leaned into the touch seemed like a subconscious gesture, and he realized guiltily that it was the first time he’d actually shown Byleth any affection. That thought made the residual positive feelings drain away. There was one more thing he needed to address. 

“I really do want this to work out, so I think it’d be best if we kept this between us for now. What with my reputation and all, I don’t want people doubting your other decisions at such a crucial time.” Sylvain couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes as he spoke, and he didn’t bother to cover the words with faux cheer. All he could do was hope that Byleth would see the logic and agree. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the man stiffen, but thankfully the words that came after weren’t argumentative the way he’d feared. 

“I’ll respect your desire for our relationship to remain private, though I want to stress that I don’t see you as someone to be ashamed of.” It really was necessary that the standing leader of the Church wasn’t tied to  _ him _ of all people, and surely Byleth knew that as well.

“I know  _ you _ don’t, Professor, but…” Sylvain sighed. “We have enough of an uphill battle right now without me making it worse.” That approach seemed to work better; the look on the other man’s face told him that the implications had gotten across this time. They fell back into a silence that was neither content nor actively hostile, as Sylvain fought with himself over his desire to embrace Byleth. He’d done that so many times in the past to smooth over mistakes and harsh words that he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to, or if it was just an automatic reaction. 

“Sylvain?” The concern in the older man’s voice told him that his internal struggle must have been clearer on his face than he thought. He shook his head, making himself meet Byleth’s eyes again. 

“Just thinking about how bad I am at this,” he answered honestly. 

“You aren’t alone in that, even if our situations are different.” Byleth’s reassurance shouldn’t have had as much of an effect on his as they did; it wasn’t anything that he hadn’t already spent far too much time thinking about, and yet they were comforting. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the first time since that first night that Byleth had acknowledged, even indirectly, his own unusual circumstances. Their conversations lately had always been focused on Sylvain’s issues. He hoped that in time he would be able to support Byleth as well. 


	7. Chapter 7

In the days leading up to the departure to Ailell, morale was low, particularly among those who believed in the stories about the area. It didn’t help that the supply situation was less than ideal from what he’d gathered, either. Documents had been passed out to each battalion covering the signs and symptoms of heat exhaustion, and Sylvain was far from eager to test whether he’d fall victim to them.

He and Byleth only had a few opportunities to be alone together for any length of time as the day grew closer, but the older man seemed to already be becoming more comfortable with instigating casual physical contact. Sylvain himself, on the other hand, still found himself overanalyzing every move he wanted to make, often thinking better of them even if the moment _ didn’t _ pass by while he was paralyzed by indecision. If the lack of reciprocation bothered Byleth, though, the man didn’t show it.

Even after all Byleth had said to him, he still half-expected to be kept out of any actual combat they encountered once the day came. They needed soldiers who would be able to hold their own, not cease functioning at the sight of blood. If he were entirely honest with himself, he would admit that he doubted his own capabilities at this point. He functioned _ better _ than he had directly after the last battle, but who was to say that he wouldn’t fall to his knees again the moment someone died in front of him? 

Obviously they had marched under the assumption that there would be at least one Imperial ambush, if not on the way to the Valley of Torment then when they reached it. The only surprise had been that Gwendal was the one leading the troops guarding Ailell when they arrived. To see the Gray Lion in this Goddess-forsaken place was an ill omen by itself, and despite all of the warnings and preparation, the sheer intensity of the oppressive heat was beyond what Sylvain had imagined. Every breath felt as though it were searing his parched throat, and he felt weighed down by the sweat drenching his body underneath his armor. 

It was everything he could do just to fight, and the battle passed in a blur of suffocating air, flashing steel, and the reek of blood sizzling on burning hot stone. Eventually the news that Rodrigue’s troops had met up with their forces made it to his battalion, and soon after, the last of the forces guarding Gwendal fell. The man’s reputation had always been that he fought without the slightest hesitation, and Sylvain heard as their troops retreated from the valley that he had died the same way. 

Rather than setting off directly for Garreg Mach, they would make camp along a river near Ailell for the night. They needed to restock their water supply and treat the wounded with what supplies they’d brought, even setting aside the overall exhaustion from the battle. Soon, the smell of woodsmoke filled the area as tents were erected and armor shed. Pots of soup and boiling water were balanced over campfires, the latter soon set aside to cool and refill their stores. 

After Sylvain had stripped off his armor, he sought out Byleth. The older man didn’t look quite as bad as Sylvain felt, but his hair was still clinging damply to his skin as he sat at the edge of the river. Sylvain held out a waterskin to him.

“Glad to see you got out okay too, Professor,” he couldn’t help but smile as he spoke, and he found himself wishing they were properly alone. The amount of relief he wanted to allow into his voice would seem like a bit much to any eavesdroppers, so he had to stick with something more casual.

“I’ve heard you fought well,” Byleth replied, giving him a small smile in return as he stepped forward to accept the waterskin. He allowed his gloved hand to brush across Sylvain’s momentarily, taking advantage of the opportunity to provide mild reassurance. After a quick debate with himself, Sylvain sat down beside Byleth. 

“”I’ll never complain about a regular mission again. Didn’t think salted meat and water could ever taste that good.” He’d initially been hesitant, but the residual nausea had been overtaken by his body’s desire to replenish what it had lost. 

“I’m glad to hear that you were able to eat something.” Byleth’s voice was low as he spoke, tinged with relief. After he’d finished with the water, he handed it back to Sylvain and they fell into a peaceful silence. The noise from the camp faded away, replaced by the sound of running water and the chirp of insects. He found himself watching Byleth, and after a quick glance around he gave into his desire to brush away one of the locks of hair plastered to the man’s forehead. His fingers came away slick with residual sweat, but he didn’t care. It was one of the gestures of affection he could comfortably show, and subtle enough to risk in public. Byleth’s eyes closed contentedly at the touch. They sat for a while like that, as dusk fell around them, before Sylvain finally worked up to asking the question that had been gnawing at him. 

“How was he? With Rodrigue I mean. They were always close, so..” Sylvain allowed himself to trail off, letting Byleth hear the cautious hope he’d been struggling to hold onto. _ You said you thought he was still there, so tell me that Dimitri even recognized him. _From the look on Byleth’s face, the man had been wanting to broach the subject. 

“Rodrigue was not able to convince him to deviate from his intention to attack Enbarr, but they had a lucid conversation.” Sylvain bit his cheek, using the sharp pain to keep him grounded. How had they gotten to the point where lucidity had to be specified? He hated even more that he actually felt relief at hearing Byleth say it. He could tell there was still more being left unsaid, but if the other man didn’t want to say it, there would be a good reason for it. Sylvain could trust his instincts there. After a few more moments of thought, Byleth shook his head.

“We can speak at further length about it once we’ve both rested, if you’d like, but for tonight I believe that will suffice.” The older man’s tone was gentle, but left Sylvain with no interest in arguing. He tilted his head up at the still-darkening sky, sighing. It was getting late, he was exhausted, and they would break camp early tomorrow. It would have been nice to enjoy a bit more time with Byleth, but…

“It’ll be nice to be back at the monastery, won’t it Professor? A nice bath, our own beds…” Sylvain stretched, exaggerating a yawn. He knew logically that the act wasn’t really necessary right now, but it was safer to keep it up. It would keep him from slipping when they actually weren’t alone. 

“It’s somewhat nostalgic for me, honestly, but I look forward to our return as well.” Byleth’s fingers brushed softly against his own for just a moment, thumb stroking the back of his hand reassuringly, before the archbishop stood. Sylvain remained by the riverside for a few minutes longer after Byleth left, reflecting on whether they were doing the right thing. 

As he made his way back through the camp, he caught sight of the lord in what seemed to be an involved conversation with Gilbert and they exchanged polite nods when Rodrigue noticed him passing by. Felix was nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t really much of a surprise. Nor was it surprising to discover Ashe bent over a large, steaming pot, dropping freshly-picked herbs into it. 

“Man, how do you do that after a day like this?” It really shouldn’t have amused him to see the younger man jump at the sound of his voice, but it wasn’t like he’d been stealthy in his approach. Ashe’s green eyes were wide as he whirled around, startled, until he recognized Sylvain and relaxed somewhat. 

“Oh, Sylvain! It’s not like I mind cooking, and I think everyone could use a nice meal after today…” Ashe’s smile was as bright as always, but Sylvain knew he had to be as tired as everyone else. He wasn’t about to call him out on it, though. They all had their own ways of managing, and at least the sniper’s approach was somewhat productive and helpful. He watched as Ashe tasted his creation again before stirring in a few more leaves. Sylvain couldn’t identify what, exactly, he’d put in, but the scent of the soup finally reached him and his stomach growled.

“Man, that smells good,” he muttered. “Can I have some?” Sylvain hadn’t particularly been looking forward to dinner, but that had been because he’d forgotten what Ashe could do with not a whole lot of ingredients. Ashe looked pleased that he’d asked, and moments later there was a steaming bowl being held out to him. Sylvain accepted gratefully, taking a cautious taste. It was definitely hot, but not inedibly so, and he dug in. He was pretty sure a good half of the things in the dish weren’t things that they would have had in their rations. How long had Ashe spent gathering ingredients?

“I don’t know how you do it.” Sylvain grinned at the freckled man, enjoying the hint of blush he could see rising in Ashe’s cheeks. In a lot of ways, he hadn’t changed from the person he was back then. Or at least, if he had, Sylvain couldn’t see it. 

“It’s nothing special, but I’m glad you like it,” the other man deflected the compliment shyly. Sylvain shook his head. 

“I’m telling you, ask anyone.” It wasn’t just Ashe’s cooking skill, either; it was the way he was always so _ positive _, the fact that even now he still seemed just as determined to be a storybook knight...it was pretty impressive. Him and Annette both, always trying to keep morale up. Mercedes did too, but at least he’d actually seen that the war was affecting her. With those two, though, you couldn’t even tell. 

They passed a bit more time chatting while Sylvain finished his meal, then he thanked Ashe again and finally returned to his tent. He’d expected sleep to come easily to him, but he found himself tossing and turning restlessly long after he’d laid down. It wasn’t the discomfort of sleeping on the hard ground that kept him up, but instead his mind refusing to shut down for the night. In the quiet darkness, there was nothing to distract from anxieties he hadn’t even considered during the day. 

As always, one of the main threads involved Dimitri, and the more he tried to dismiss thoughts about the prince the more powerfully they would assert themselves again. He recalled something Byleth had said about this, and attempted to shift his focus to another topic rather than clear his mind entirely. 

The first thing that came to mind, of course, was their relationship. Could it even be called that at this point, though? A few casual touches, awkwardly exchanged expressions of interest...was that really enough? _ It’s not like he hasn’t offered you more. You’re just too afraid to take it, _ he reminded himself bitterly. As much as he’d argued with an imagined version of Byleth after their conversation that night, he’d only succeeded in making himself _ less _convinced that his only motive was protecting the other man’s reputation. It was certainly a factor, but if he screwed this up it’d be better if everyone didn’t know it. There were more than enough stories about him already, he didn’t need one that would actually hurt.

Not to mention that despite everything Byleth had said about allowing him to be the one in control of things, it was hard to believe that the other man could actually be happy with that. And was it even the best way to approach things? Maybe he’d get over the associations he had quicker if he actually dealt with them. Byleth’s touches didn’t remind him of the things he wanted to forget about himself, after all, and when he’d brushed the hair from the man’s face earlier he hadn’t been thinking of all the times in the past he’d done the same gesture insincerely. Maybe he just needed to man up.

Those thoughts and others like them swirled around in his head until finally, at some point, he drifted off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is going to be on hold for a little bit as I recover from surgery, but I have part of the next chapter written already. I'll still be planning, just probably not sitting down to write for very long during the week of the 8th.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the length of the delay, but I should be back to updating more regularly now.

By the time they had returned to Garreg Mach, Sylvain had learned at least one of the things Byleth had left unspoken. He’d seen it on Dimitri’s back, unmistakable; Areadbhar. His own family’s Lance of Ruin had been stored away long ago, and for all he cared it could stay buried forever. His father didn’t approve, of course, but he didn’t care anymore. Every time he’d looked at it, he’d just remembered a lifetime’s worth of memories he’d rather forget. 

  
  


The day they arrived back was a flurry of activity; those who’d stayed behind unloading carts and restocking necessities in preparation for the next mission while the returning soldiers sought out baths and proper rest. He hoped he’d sleep better in his own bed than he had on the road, but he wasn’t holding his breath. That probably wouldn’t happen until he had some level of assurance that Dimitri wouldn’t use that damned lance in the monastery. Really, he could only pray that he’d never have to witness the man using it at all. 

Between his own duties and Byleth’s obligations, it wasn’t until several days later that the two of them had the opportunity to arrange some time alone. Their next target had been decided; Myrddin. It was no Valley of Torment, but he wasn’t all that much more eager to attack a strategic position that was certain to be well-guarded. Claude had apparently been amiable and agreed to serve as a distraction as they cut through Alliance territory, but even if he could be trusted it would be no easy task. _ If _ they managed it, though, it would undeniably be an important stronghold. He would have to trust in Byleth...and in Dimitri, as much as that thought still sickened him. 

They dined together when they could. It wasn’t as often as Sylvain would have liked, even though their conversations were still the usual unimportant fare they always spoke of in public. There was something about it that he found comforting, even though Byleth would always leave afterwards in order to bring food to Dimitri and Sylvain would find somewhere he needed to be that kept him from joining the other man. They had agreed that he should stop by Byleth’s room after lunch that day, and he found himself pushing around scraps of food on his plate to stall for time. He’d been looking forward to time alone with the other man since before they’d gotten back, but now that they’d arranged something, he was hesitant. When it came down to it, he just didn’t have faith in himself not to screw this up. The archbishop and the philanderer, how could this possibly work out, honestly? Eventually he knew he couldn’t stall any longer without potentially worrying Byleth, if he hadn’t already. 

Even standing outside Byleth’s quarters, he still found himself reluctant to knock. Staying there for long would just draw unwanted attention, he knew, and he used his aversion to that idea to force himself to let the other man know he’d arrived. Moments later, Byleth opened the door to let him inside, greeting him with the faint smile Sylvain had become strangely fond of. 

“It’s good to see you, Sylvain. Are you doing well?” He could hear a trace of concern in the words, and he quickly stepped into the room, giving the other man an apologetic look.

“Yeah.” Sylvain replied, leaning back against the door to push it shut. “Just...overthinking stuff again.” 

“Yes, I’m quite familiar with that particular issue…” Byleth’s tone was rueful, but the look on his face seemed more like relief. After a brief pause, the older man’s green eyes fixed on his own as the archbishop closed most of the distance that remained between them. Sylvain could see that he was conflicted, and the hesitant way that Byleth reached up to cup his cheek only added to his concern. Somehow he hadn’t considered that he might not be the only one still agonizing over all this, and the thought wasn’t a pleasant one. He hoped that Byleth at least didn’t regret what they were doing.

“I’ve wanted to ask for some time; may I kiss you?” The other man’s voice was quiet, and Sylvain almost asked him to repeat himself. He’d been half-expecting that all of the time he’d spent trying to convince himself to move forward would have been wasted. For Byleth to tell him he’d changed his mind. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for _ that _.

His surprise must have been easy to read, as Byleth apologised to him quickly while removing his hand from where it rested on his face. Sylvain placed a hand on the back of the other man’s neck before he could move away, leaning down to brush his lips against Byleth’s. It wasn’t exactly ideal; he’d clearly caught the other by surprise and the angle was off, but he’d worked on instinct. His eyes flicked to Byleth’s after the kiss, hoping to see relief or something like it reflected on the man’s face. Instead, he seemed almost bemused. 

“Look, I’m sorry that I keep making you think you did something wrong,” The words were out of his mouth before he could lessen their overly-defensive edge, and he winced at how they sounded. There was a good chance that Byleth had spent a decent chunk of their time together wanting to make some kind of move but talked himself out of it. The older man had _ told _him that he didn’t want to overstep boundaries, that he’d let Sylvain lead things, and the whole time he’d been too busy worrying about his own issues to consider how Byleth must have been feeling. He let his hand fall from the other man’s neck with a sigh, even more frustrated with himself than he had been. 

“That came out wrong. Just because I’m scared of screwing this up doesn’t mean I wanted to make you worry and ask for permission for everything, you know? Goddess, I’ve spent so much time trying to figure out how to say this and I’m still-”  
  
“I understand,” Byleth cut in, mercifully sparing Sylvain from his rambling, “I believe we’re both guilty of being overly cautious with each other as of late.” The archbishop’s hand found his own, thumb brushing the back of his hand in gentle strokes. Sylvain had to assume it was one of Byleth’s preferred gestures, given how often the other man employed it. Not that he minded; it was new to him, so there were no past associations to serve as a distraction. 

“Yeah,” Sylvain managed lamely. Several self-deprecating comments rose to the forefront of his mind, but he didn’t say anything more. Every time he'd indulged those thoughts, he'd been proven wrong, he told himself again. He felt Byleth’s fingers move to his wrist, pulling gently downwards as the man’s other hand returned to his face. It took Sylvain a moment to understand what Byleth wanted, as the older man’s expression had remained mostly blank, but once he caught on he leaned down again and allowed Byleth to kiss him. He had a fleeting thought about his past, of being silenced because the only thing his partner wanted from him was physical, but this time it failed to take root. Byleth’s actions, as usual, were too clearly meant to comfort him, and it was becoming easier to keep that in mind. 

It had been a long time since he’d kissed a man. Longer still since he’d actually enjoyed it. The other man’s lips were rougher than Sylvain was accustomed to, even though the kiss itself was cautious and soft. When Byleth pulled away, Sylvain could see it on his face that he was deep in thought.

“I feel as though there are things we need to address if we intend to be more comfortable with each other.” Byleth’s grip on his arm tightened as the man began to step over to the bed. Sylvain pushed down his desire to resist or question, and simply let him take the lead. Byleth sat slowly, his hold on Sylvain’s arm forcing him to sit down as well. 

“Where do you want to start, Professor?” Sylvain paused. “...I guess that’s one thing, huh? It’s kinda weird to still call you that now, isn’t it?” Using the title had been automatic, but when he’d just had Byleth’s mouth pressed against his own it seemed suddenly wrong. From the way the older man’s expression slowly changed in the moments afterwards, the realization had only then dawned on him as well. 

“...yes, I suppose it would be best if you used my name when we’re alone.” Byleth actually looked a bit flustered, and Sylvain felt a tad guilty at how he enjoyed seeing it. _ It’s humanizing, _he told himself. _ That’s all. _

“It’ll take some getting used to. I usually just called you by your title even when I was talking to other people.” It wouldn’t do any good for him to tell the other man that a lot of that was because he used to resent him. That had been years ago. At least, it had been for him. All the more reason to leave it unsaid. Byleth nodded.

“It will be unusual for me to hear, as well, though I don’t think I’ll dislike it.” Byleth folded his hands in his lap as he spoke, and Sylvain was pretty sure he could see a trace of a smile on his face. So that was one thing out of the way. Sure, it wasn’t one that either of them had intended to bring to the table, but it was still something. Sylvain wasn’t sure how to broach the more important topics. Would it be best just to go straight into it, or should they enjoy the moment? Byleth had been the one to instigate this talk. Maybe he’d just let the older man decide when to break the comfortable silence. 

It didn’t take long for him to become lost in his thoughts again. There were several things he knew they needed to talk about, but he wasn’t even sure whether some of the topics would be appropriate to bring up yet, let alone which one to start with. Sylvain was deeply curious about certain aspects of the archbishop, but from what he’d seen the man wasn’t comfortable being forthcoming with them. He was sure he hadn’t helped with that. 

The sound of a deep inhale alerted him to the fact that his time was up. It still threw Sylvain off somewhat when Byleth did such _ normal _things. He supposed that the years they’d been apart had served to make him remember the man as even more unusual than he really had been, but then again there had been no need for him to gather his courage for things like this back then. Even without the other complicating factors a former mercenary wouldn’t have any hesitation when it came to fighting, and lectures didn’t exactly have high stakes either. 

“If you’re not ready to talk about this, I will entirely understand. I confess, I’m somewhat anxious myself,” Byleth began. Sylvain could feel his pulse speed up at the cautious delivery of the words. There was a good chance that he knew what the man was going to say next. 

“I’ve avoided bringing up our first conversation in my quarters thus far…” Another pause, another lurch in Sylvain’s chest. He regretted pretty much everything about that night with what he knew now, but his retroactive embarrassment at how he’d flirted was nothing compared to the shame he felt about how the evening had ended.

“I’m sorry for how I acted, Prof-” he cut himself off, “Byleth.” The man’s name felt foreign in his mouth, but this wasn’t the time to work that out in his head. 

“I’m the one who should apologize. I should have been more clear about my interest being more than academic, and I crossed the line with what I confided to you.” Byleth’s hands were tense enough that Sylvain could see the fabric of his gloves bunching under his fingers. Ignoring his doubts he put a hand over Byleth’s, hoping it would reassure the other man. He could feel the man relax slightly, but if anything the level of tension in the room seemed to increase. _ It’s not your fault I wasn’t taking you seriously _, Sylvain wanted to say. It wasn’t really about that, though. 

“I started things, and I kept them going. You felt safe enough to trust me with something important and I screwed it up.” As far as he was concerned, there was no room for disagreement when it came to who had ruined their talk. He hoped that Byleth wasn’t equally convinced of his own fault. 

“We both made mistakes, but what we need to discuss is something deeper than either of our conduct that night. Do you think you’ll ever be truly comfortable with me?” Even before Sylvain looked to confirm it, he could feel Byleth’s eyes on him. The other man’s face was uncomfortably easy to read, and he wanted to look away but didn’t dare. _ If you’d asked me that earlier, neither of us would have liked the answer. Even now, it’s not as simple as yes or no, _Sylvain thought. He wasn’t viscerally repelled by the thought the way he had been in the days after he’d first learned about Byleth’s lack of heartbeat, but nothing would change that it was unnatural. 

“I can’t make any promises about being totally okay with it, but I want to get used to it.” It wasn’t full acceptance, but he had no desire to lie in order to soften things. The older man wouldn’t want that anyway, he was sure. All he could do was hope that wanting to work on it would be enough. The way Byleth’s expression changed gave Sylvain at least a bit of reassurance that it would. The man nodded slowly, turning his hand so that he could take hold of Sylvain’s.

“If possible, I would like to help you become more comfortable with my...unique circumstances. I understand that it’s difficult to reconcile them with life, and I’d like to try reinforcing my humanity, for lack of a better phrase.” Did Byleth want to put his hand against his chest again? It was hard to imagine that helping much, but at least this time he’d be prepared. Sylvain waited for Byleth to lift his hand, slightly puzzled by the lack of action before realizing that the man’s words had been a request for permission. 

“I thought you were gonna stop asking before you did anything?” he teased, wanting to lighten the atmosphere. He’d never been great in tense situations. It seemed like Byleth had taken it in the spirit it was meant, as he finally placed Sylvain’s hand on his chest. Except he’d placed it on the wrong side. Sylvain opened his mouth to question the man, but closed it again when he realized the point. Byleth’s chest rose and fell rhythmically with each breath. He already knew the other man needed to breathe, but feeling it for himself did actually make him feel better somehow.

“I suppose I did,” Byleth let go of Sylvain’s hand as he spoke, and Sylvain hesitated for a moment, unsure, before he pulled back awkwardly. Byleth didn’t seem to notice; he was focused on removing his gloves and setting them to the side. Sylvain watched as the other man slid up one of his sleeves as well, revealing a fresh scar, bright red against his pale skin. He extended his arm so Sylvain could see it clearly. A combination of healing magic and time had done their work, but even aside from the color the scar was still raised above the surrounding skin. 

“This was an injury I sustained during our battle to defend the monastery.” Byleth traced the line of the healed wound, a hint of sadness in his eyes. It was fleeting, quickly replaced, but Sylvain felt a twinge of guilt nonetheless. Whatever had happened on the battlefield was clearly not something the older man liked to think about; something he understood all too well. Not to mention how little Sylvain liked thinking of his own experiences that day. 

“Sorry that I made you feel like you had to do this, Byleth…” He wished that he’d been entirely swayed by the archbishop’s actions, that being shown that the man’s body functioned normally outside of his heart was enough to fully assuage his doubts, but it wasn’t that easy. He _ did _ feel somewhat more comfortable, though, and he appreciated the effort. 

“It’s alright, Sylvain. I understand that it’s difficult to accept, and I hope I’ve helped set you at ease somewhat.” Byleth pulled his sleeve back down, but left his gloves where they’d been set. He traced along Sylvain’s cheek with bare fingers before moving them up along the nape of his neck and into his loose red hair. Sylvain leaned into the touch, relieved that the older man hadn’t felt the need to seek permission. There was a lot of work left, yeah, but they were both making progress. He leaned down to kiss Byleth once again, more confidently this time. 

“I appreciate it.” _ At some point I’ll find a way to make all this up to you. _

  
  


They had to part ways shortly after the end of that conversation for Byleth to return to his duties, but Sylvain was content as he left the other man’s quarters. He still wasn’t entirely sure how to think of his relationship with Byleth, and using the man’s name would probably feel strange for a while still, but clearing the air between them somewhat had helped. Hopefully they’d have a few more chances to speak between now and the day they were to set out. 


	9. Chapter 9

Sylvain had felt pretty good about how they’d left things that day, but as he tried to sleep that night he found himself staring at the ceiling, frustrated. When he was with Byleth he still worried sometimes, but it was always at night that his mind raced like this. Rather than something concrete, like the night after Ailell, the things keeping him awake this time were harder to pin down. There were the usual things; Dimitri, the war, Byleth, but mingled in were a mess of regrets and fears he didn’t even know how to put a name to. 

The morning came eventually, and he reluctantly forced himself to rise. At least he didn’t have any specific plans for the day, he thought as he dressed himself lethargically. Once he got outside, the brisk spring wind helped a little in clearing the fog clouding his thoughts. He made his way to the dining hall, hoping that he hadn’t slept in enough that he’d have to scavenge the leftovers. The increased number of soldiers living at the monastery since Rodrigue’s arrival had made for scarce pickings sometimes. 

The tradeoff for having less variety to choose from was that he was able to find an empty table without much trouble. He set down his tray, rubbing at his eyes before he began to eat. Hopefully having something in his stomach would give him a bit more energy. 

“Good morning, Sylvain.” The gentle, soft voice from behind him made Sylvain jump slightly, fork clattering against his plate unpleasantly. He decided he would just pretend that he hadn’t been startled, turning to greet the woman with a warm smile. 

“Hey Mercedes. You look ravishing as always,” he motioned towards the seat beside him, though part of him hoped she wouldn’t take the invitation. He didn’t have the energy to keep up his act for long. Not that she couldn’t see right through it anyway, but usually she’d let him get away with it. 

“Yes, yes,” she dismissed the flattery as casually as he’d employed it, a clear sign that she had approached him with something on her mind. He thought about continuing the game anyway, but decided against it. Even now, the effortless grace and poise she displayed impressed Sylvain as he watched her take a seat. He’d flirted with her just as much as he had everyone else when they’d first met, but truthfully, it had been a bit different with her. Rather than viewing her as less than himself he’d recognized that it was quite the opposite. He’d never measure up to her selflessness, and even back then he’d known she deserved better than him. 

“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Mercedes asked. Sylvain looked down at his half-eaten breakfast and debated whether to play dumb. He wanted to pretend that she was talking about the food, to make a joke about how it certainly wasn’t like her baking, but what would be the point?

“Yeah, the war’s been hard on everyone,” he agreed carefully.

“Yes, it certainly has been a struggle for us all. We all manage in our own ways. I hope that things with our professor are going well?” The lurch of fear that seized his heart at Mercedes’ words was almost dizzying. She’d phrased it in a way that would give him deniability but there was no question that she knew the extent of their relationship. Suddenly nauseated, Sylvain forced himself to swallow the food in his mouth before shoving the tray away from himself. It _ would _ be her who’d notice first, he tried to reassure himself. He hadn’t ruined Byleth’s reputation with everyone just because Mercedes had caught on. She’d always been perceptive. His pulse still pounded in his ears, a dull roar that almost drowned out her next words. 

“I’d very much like it if you’d come with me to my room for some tea. I think it’s very important to have someone to talk to at times like these…” Mercedes’ tone was polite, and he knew that if he said no she’d accept it. She’d always been good at making him let down his guard. Somehow that made it worse than if she was trying to force him.

“Does anyone else know?” Sylvain didn’t want the answer but he needed to ask. Mercedes wasn’t the type to gossip about private matters, but she would have heard if any of their old classmates had taken notice. Thankfully, she shook her head.

“I can assure you that you and the professor have not been a topic I’ve heard mentioned.” It was a relief to hear, but at the same time the mournful look on the older woman’s face made him regret asking. She probably saw the worst of what happened to their soldiers in each battle, given that she was one of their most skilled healers. Sylvain didn’t ask the question that entered his head about collateral damage; he didn’t want to put either of them through that conversation. 

“That’s something at least.” Sylvain sighed. Sure, there was a part of him that was interested in taking the offer. To be able to actually address some of the things that had been eating at him with a third party he could trust. But even if he deserved to have that at all he certainly had no business taking it right now. 

“Look, Mercedes, it isn’t that I don’t appreciate it,” he started, running a hand through his hair anxiously as he spoke, “but I’m the reason we’re keeping this quiet and I don’t want to go talking about it at length without him knowing about it.” 

“I see. Well, consider the offer open for both of you if you do decide to take it.” Mercedes patted his hand gently, then slid her chair back carefully from the table. Sylvain nodded, managing to give her a shaky half-smile as she stood to leave. 

“Thanks, Mercedes…” Sylvain was pretty sure he meant it, even as he sat there well after she’d left, debating things he’d thought were resolved with himself anew.

  
  


Sylvain had intended to speak to Byleth about that morning’s conversation, but the archbishop’s schedule had been filled by the time he’d made his way over from the dining hall. He’d thought of trying to train, but Felix would most likely be there and he wasn’t up for that level of thrashing. Or maybe he just couldn’t stand the thought of his best friend seeing him looking like garbage again. He was worried and exhausted and that was a recipe for saying even more things he’d regret. Finally, he settled on spending some time maintaining his equipment. It was mindless work, but that was about all he was up for at the moment and it had to be done before they set out later that month. 

It wound up not being until the following day that Sylvain was able to pull Byleth aside to mention what had happened. As it was at the end of a strategy meeting and he was competing for the man’s attention with other soldiers, he’d framed it as just wanting the ex-mercenary’s input on whether he should lead one of the cavalry regiments in the upcoming battle. Sylvain handed over a slip of paper as they spoke, implying that it was a suggestion on battle formations rather than what it actually was. He’d spent most of the meeting struggling with exactly how to confess to the man that he’d given away their relationship, and even as he watched Byleth read the note he wanted to snatch it away and act like nothing had happened. The archbishop’s expression barely changed, but Sylvain was certain he’d caught a quick flash of distress.

“If you have time, I'd like to review your lancework on horseback later today.” Byleth’s tone was detached, but he met Sylvain’s eyes with an apologetic look and a slight nod. Sylvain watched as the man folded the note and tucked it away. He needed to respond, but his mouth felt dry, and his mind refused to cooperate. 

“Yeah, I think I can make time,” was what he finally came out with after far too long a pause. He really didn’t have anything to add after that, not with the mixture of shame and frustration swirling around in his brain crowding every other thought out. He forced a grin as he turned, waving casually as he strolled out of the room. 

Sylvain didn’t even bother to go to the dining hall for lunch; the thought of food just turned his stomach. He’d rather be alone until Byleth had room in his schedule to talk, so he headed back to the dormitory. Felix was never around so he’d be fine there. The meeting earlier had brought the upcoming battle back into his mind, so he made a few attempts to review tactics as he waited, but it was no use. He couldn’t focus. When he heard the sound of Byleth’s voice, muffled through the thick wood of the door, his emotions cycled rapidly from excitement to anxiety. 

“I’m sorry that something I’ve done led to Mercedes realizing the extent of our relationship,” were the first words out of Byleth’s mouth after Sylvain had let him in, his tone heavy with guilt and concern. It was such a drastic departure from the man’s earlier reaction that it threw Sylvain off; he stared momentarily at Byleth before finding the words to reply. 

“It’s not your fault. Mercedes is just that good at reading people.” Sylvain shook his head as he spoke. It hadn’t even occurred to him to blame Byleth for the situation. The older man was more skilled at disguising his emotions than he was by far. Whatever had tipped her off had to be _ his _ fault. All of this mess was.

“How would you like to handle the situation?” Byleth hadn’t stepped closer to him, Sylvain realized. They were standing well apart the way they normally would in public. He wanted to close the distance between them, but he was unsure whether it was the right move. If Byleth thought he was upset at him that would explain it, but so would Byleth being mad at him. The thought that the older man might flinch away from an attempt at physical contact made his chest tight.

“It really seemed like she just wanted to help. When I asked, she said she hadn’t heard anything about us from anyone else, either…” It wasn’t actually an answer to Byleth’s question, but it was a start. 

“I didn’t want to talk to her about it behind your back, but she said the invitation was there if I ever did,” he continued carefully. He watched for any change of expression, hoping that he would find some clue as to what the other man wanted from him. _ Please give me something to work with. _

“Do you want to speak with her?” Byleth was still being guarded, and Sylvain hated it because he knew perfectly well that he was doing the same thing. If they were going to wind up back here every time something happened they’d never get anywhere.

“I don’t know,” Sylvain answered honestly. It probably _ would _ help, but that didn’t make it any easier. Especially since he couldn’t tell at all what Byleth’s feelings on the matter were. The older man’s face wasn’t blank, exactly, but he wasn’t sure how to read it. The visible tenseness in his body wasn’t exactly a great sign, though. 

Once again, an uncomfortable silence overtook the room before Byleth spoke cautiously. 

“I would be willing if you did want to. Though I...would also understand if you would rather bring things to an end before others notice.” 

“What?” The question was out of Sylvain’s mouth before he even had time to fully process what the man had said. Byleth’s body language became even more guarded, and the sight of it was enough to finally push Sylvain into stepping closer to him. As he did, he saw Byleth’s weight shift, preparing to maintain the distance between them. The hurt that inflicted must have been clear on his face immediately, as Byleth abandoned his step back and allowed Sylvain to touch him gently. 

“Byleth, I wanted to keep things secret because I was worried about your reputation, remember? Even though you didn’t really care, I’m still terrified that I’m going to ruin your life in the middle of the war because everyone knows I’m trash. You sound like you think _ I’m _ ashamed of _ you _ .” Sylvain didn’t even try to keep the bewilderment out of his voice as he spoke. The more he thought about it, though, the more the pieces started to fall into place. He’d made secrecy a prerequisite of their relationship from the start, made himself scarce yesterday after talking to Mercedes, and told Byleth about it with a note instead of speaking to him directly. No wonder the other man had been so cautious and apologetic. Sylvain let out an exasperated noise and buried his face in his hands.   
  
“I didn’t think about how it could come off to you. Ending things didn’t enter my mind at all, trust me.” He didn’t want to meet Byleth’s eyes, but he forced himself. The other man needed to know that he was being sincere. 

“Perhaps I was leaping to conclusions based off my own concerns as well. I apologize for making assumptions,” Byleth replied, letting out a slow breath. It was a relief that he seemed like he’d relaxed somewhat after learning that there’d been a misunderstanding, but the atmosphere was still awkward between them. The way things kept happening, the smartest course of action seemed obvious. They sure weren’t doing a great job trying to manage things between them so far. 

“We should probably listen to what Mercedes has to say, huh?” _ Considering how much I suck at this _, he wanted to add. At least Byleth had a good excuse.

“I’ll ask her if she would mind setting aside some time for us.” Byleth agreed. The fact that the archbishop seemed a bit nervous about the idea as well meant that they were on the same page with something, at least. Sylvain wasn’t sure what that conversation was going to be like, but it couldn't make things _ worse _. They couldn’t keep going on the way they were, misunderstanding after misunderstanding because they didn’t know how to communicate. He didn't want to keep hurting Byleth or making him worry that at any time he'd just suddenly dump him. It wasn’t even his reputation ruining things; Byleth obviously didn’t care about that. It was his own ineptitude. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the holidays happened and once that was over I got anxious about not having updated for so long and that made this take me forever to finish

It had seemed to be a good idea to allow Byleth to set things up; Sylvain certainly hadn’t been eager to leap into that discussion, after all, and he’d offered. Unfortunately, the other man had misunderstood him. Rather than the two of them speaking to her separately, Byleth had interpreted his phrasing to mean that they should talk to her together. He’d almost backed out the moment the archbishop had informed him of the arrangement he’d made, but thought better of it. If nothing else, it would be a chance to actually spend time with him again.

Following their discussion, he and Byleth no longer spoke in public unless entirely necessary. Their evening meals together had needed to stop, he knew, but he hadn’t realized how much of an effect the older man’s presence had on him. The only thing keeping him from skipping meals was the knowledge that he needed to keep himself in good shape with the march to Myrddin coming up far too quickly. That didn’t make food any more appealing, but it was enough to make him force himself to eat it.  _ You brought all of this on yourself,  _ he reminded himself every time he thought about seeking Byleth out. The archbishop being in a relationship might have raised a few eyebrows regardless, but if it weren’t with someone like him it could probably be overlooked. No matter how much he regretted it, though, there was no changing his reputation. At least not that easily.  _ Maybe if we make it through this war alive. _

As he made his way through the courtyard to the women’s dorms, Sylvain’s mood had not improved. He didn’t have any particular expectations for the meeting other than knowing it would be uncomfortable. Mercedes had a way of making him let his guard down in a way he didn’t know how to handle. He was pretty sure she had that effect on everyone, but when it came to Byleth...how would her insight work on someone like that? Sylvain wasn’t sure whether he wanted the other man to be vulnerable to it or not. It would be awkward at best if the archbishop was just watching with an empty expression while he was more emotional than he wanted to be, but on the other hand...how would he feel if Byleth was more emotive? 

He raised his hand to the door of Mercedes’ room, rapping his knuckles against the cold wood. From inside, there was the muffled sound of conversation suddenly ceasing, followed by the scrape of a chair being pushed away as Mercedes stood up. When she invited him inside with a gentle smile, he could see that Byleth was already seated at the table in the middle of the room. Sylvain opened his mouth to ask if he’d gotten the time wrong, but Mercedes shook her head at him before he could speak. 

“Professor Byleth came to me earlier in order to explain some things he believed were necessary for me to know about him,” she explained. “I had been curious about some of the things he told me, but never thought it prudent to ask.” 

“Yeah, it’s...a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Sylvain forced a laugh, but neither of them reacted. Mercedes returned to her seat at the table, looking at him patiently as she waited for him to join them. 

“I wanted Mercedes to have all the information she would need,” Byleth finally spoke. The words sent a shock of fear and nausea through Sylvain; he’d thought that it was agreed that his displays of weakness related to Dimitri were to be kept strictly between the two of them. It was humiliating enough that he’d cried in front of Mercedes once. He didn’t want her to know how much of a mess he’d been since they all got back together at the monastery. She dealt with the worst of it as one of their best healers. What right did he have to be this screwed up by what little he’d had to deal with? 

“Sylvain?” From the tone in Mercedes’ voice, she’d been trying to get his attention unsuccessfully while he was lost in his spiraling anxiety. He walked over to the table and pulled out the remaining chair, trying to keep his breathing slow and even as he sat. If she noticed the effort it was taking, she didn’t say anything about it. 

“Might I ask how your relationship started? Were you already together during our academy days?” Mercedes asked casually.  _ Wait. If she doesn’t know the answer to that- _

“No, it’s only a recent development. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’m afraid it took Sylvain directly asking me if I was attracted to him for me to be certain of my own feelings.” Byleth folded his hands as he spoke, shaking his head at himself. Sylvain wanted to reach out, assure the man that given the situation it was only natural, but even though they were actively discussing their relationship it still felt wrong to show affection when they weren’t alone.  _ Especially since I needed you to help me function _ , he wished he could add. Some time when they had the chance to speak privately he would need to make it more clear how much he appreciated what Byleth had done for him. 

“I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have a lot of other stuff going on. It kinda makes sense that you wouldn’t be sure.” That would have to do for now; he could tell by the shift in Byleth’s expression that the subtext had gotten through. Hopefully someday they wouldn’t have to speak around what they really wanted to say. Mercedes seemed satisfied with their answers, as she continued onto the next question.

“Has it been difficult for either of you to adjust to a same sex relationship?” 

“It’s not like I’d never been attracted to guys before. Out of all the things making this hard, that’s not really one of them.” Sylvain shrugged. It wasn’t that he’d never thought about it as another complicating factor, but Byleth was gay; regardless of who he entered a relationship with he’d still have to deal with a subset of people who didn’t accept it.  “I’ve only felt attraction towards men. I would say that my difficulties have been more due to the unfamiliarity of the situation.” Byleth poured more tea into his cup, then offered wordlessly to pour some for Sylvain as well. The rich scent of bergamot rose from the pot once the liquid was disturbed, and he couldn’t help but smile at the man and push his cup forward to make it easier for Byleth to pour. 

“So unfamiliarity with relationships is your main point of difficulty, Professor?” Mercedes confirmed. From the way she asked, she was clearly making mental notes- something that should have been a lot more stressful than Sylvain was finding it at the moment. He took a slow sip of tea, more than willing to take advantage of the fact that the focus seemed to be on Byleth for the moment. Soon enough, he knew, it would be his turn. He still listened to the other man’s response, though, even as he was trying to plan out his own words.

“Yes. Even outside of my difficulties regarding emotions, I don’t have very much in the way of a frame of reference for romantic relationships.” That wasn’t anything surprising; a band of mercenaries wouldn’t exactly be rife with good examples. Mercedes’ expression was still one of mild curiosity, and Sylvain wondered if she wanted to ask Byleth more about it. If she thought about it, though, she apparently decided against it as she turned instead to him. 

“What about you, Sylvain?” 

“I mean, honestly, it's the same for me. I’m not exactly the poster boy for healthy relationships, you know? So I keep second-guessing myself all the time.” There was a lot more to it than that, but he didn’t know how to explain it to her even if he  _ wanted _ to get into it. For all that she was a great listener, how could she possibly know what it was like to agonize over every little action? And not just because of being unsure whether it was coming from the right place but also about whether it would be seen in the correct light? 

“What is it that you second guess?” Mercedes prompted him, before taking a sip of her own tea as she waited for him to respond. He let out a frustrated breath, motioning helplessly. 

“Whether anything I do is actually what I want to do or if it’s just me doing what I’m used to.” From the way Mercedes kept her gaze calmly on him, that wasn’t a good enough answer. He glanced to Byleth, and it was obvious that the other man also hoped he would explain himself further. This would just make him look even worse, but he’d dug this hole for himself. 

“You’re really going to make me explain this?” Sylvain averted his eyes from both of them before continuing, resigned. “I learned what girls wanted from me and gave it to them. It just became second nature, and if she actually seemed like she was starting to care about me I’d  _ accidentally _ get caught flirting with her friends. Now I’m actually trying to do things for real but all those instincts are still there and I trust myself about as much as most people trust me.” Putting the things he’d done into words and speaking them aloud made them feel even more shameful. Sure, plenty of the girls he’d strung along and treated horribly probably did care about nothing other than his Crest, but what about the others? There had to have been some who actually wanted to get to know him despite the reputation he’d made for himself. He didn’t want to confirm it but he was certain that he could feel both sets of eyes boring into him. Judging him.

“Things are different with Byleth,” he started, unable to leave things at the confession. “I really do care about him. But all I know how to do in relationships is ruin them.” The silence that followed felt interminable. Sylvain once again found himself wishing he could take everything back, erase the things he’d said entirely, but of course that was impossible. A small part of him wondered whether Mercedes would comment on his use of Byleth’s name when she finally did say something; it had slipped out, but even if it hadn’t, the thought of using the man’s old title instead of his name felt wrong under the circumstances. Too formal for what, for better or worse, was a deeply emotional issue. 

“I think that the amount of thought you’ve put into not wanting to hurt the professor is a good sign, Sylvain.” She was clearly trying to reassure him, but he still didn’t feel up to meeting her eyes. There was another moment of awkward silence, then Mercedes spoke again.    
  
“It seems as though both of you have a lot of difficulty communicating with each other properly. It’s certainly understandable, but I do think it’s something that you need to put more work into, if you don’t mind me saying. I think the most important thing right now, though, is that you need to spend time together without putting so much pressure on yourselves. I understand you’re very concerned, but avoiding each other in public really isn’t going to do either of you any favors. It’s fine for two old friends to spend time together, after all.” Sylvain could hear a trace of amusement start to creep into the woman’s voice as she spoke, and a quiet giggle escaped her mouth after she finished speaking. 

Any protest he might have made died when he realized how obvious what she was saying really was. He’d been so afraid that he’d completely skipped over the possibility that there was something they could be seen as other than a binary choice of acquaintances or lovers. Byleth didn’t look as embarrassed as Sylvain he knew he must, but it was clear that Sylvain wasn’t alone in feeling like an idiot here. 

“I appreciate your advice greatly, Mercedes, though to be honest I feel quite foolish at the moment.” Byleth spoke slowly, cautiously. The blonde woman shook her head, the patient smile returning to her face.    
  
“I know it’s a difficult situation for you both. Please come to speak to me any time you’d like, Professor. The same goes for you, Sylvain. I hope I’ve been able to help. I’m sure that you’re very busy, but if you still have time I’d enjoy catching up a bit as well...” 

They chatted a little longer about inconsequential things, talking around the wide variety of topics none of them wanted to broach, before Byleth excused himself. Not wanting to follow too closely behind, Sylvain hung back. He really wanted to ask Mercedes what had tipped her off about them before he left; she was right that the two of them avoiding each other wasn’t going to do anything good, even if she didn’t know how much of a toll it had been taking on him. Knowing would let him avoid doing whatever it was in future...but then, with how fixated he’d become with avoidance after learning that she’d caught on, he was more likely just to make himself miserable if he knew. In the end, he kept it simple.

“Hey Mercedes? Thanks. For everything.” 

  
  


That evening, Sylvain was still working through everything as he made his way to the training grounds. A couple days from now they’d be headed for Myrddin, so even if he’d rather just be alone he needed to get in some last minute training. He still wasn’t quite up to talking to Felix, so he’d taken advantage of seeing his old friend in the dining hall a few minutes earlier. Sylvain had seen Byleth as well, preparing to visit the cathedral, and they’d exchanged a look and a wordless agreement that neither of them were ready to talk quite yet. 

He was pleased to see that none of the other faces sparring were familiar to him; it was mostly Rodrigue’s forces, as well as a few Seiros knights. As he was armoring up, he couldn’t help but overhear a couple of the knights arguing, but only started paying attention when he heard Byleth’s name. Sylvain began sorting through the padded equipment more slowly, unable to ignore the gossip.

“The Goddess must be ashamed of what’s come of the Church since Lady Rhea was captured. He’s not only harbouring the mad prince of Faergus, but allowing him to wreak havoc on the cathedral!” 

“Shh! You aren’t wrong but we have to deal with it for now. Surely once Lady Rhea is rescued she’ll restore the Church to its proper glory. Look at the acting archbishop as a test.” 

“I suppose you’re right. I just hope he won’t get us all slaughtered before that happens.” The statement was punctuated by the sound of an arrow slicing through the air, followed by the thud of it hitting its mark. Sylvain finished gearing up, pretending he hadn’t been listening as he sought out a training partner.  _ Just what I needed, more proof that I’m not imagining things.  _ Outside of the initial tenseness of hearing Byleth spoken of with such disdain, though, he found that he...didn’t particularly care about the mens’ opinions. Anyone who wasn’t Rhea or Sothis herself wouldn’t be good enough for some people. As he began to train with another spear user, he was able to clear his mind and focus entirely on avoiding the woman’s strikes. 

  
  


After he’d had his fill of practice, Sylvain stopped at the baths to refresh himself and let the heat relieve the ache of well-used muscles. After a bit of soaking, he found the restless nights he’d been having were catching up to him with a vengeance and he had to keep himself from dozing off in the warm waters. It was a relief to feel like he could actually sleep without staring at the ceiling, his mind a mess of swirling anxieties, and he quickly dried off and dressed again. He needed to take advantage of this while he could. 

  
  


The following morning, he went through several cycles of half-waking followed by dozing off again before the sound of knocking cut through the haze of sleep sufficiently to convince him to rise. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, making a half-hearted attempt to fix his tousled hair before opening the door. 

“Good morning, Sylvain.” He’d expected this the moment he registered that someone was at the door, but seeing how put-together the older man looked compared to his own disheveled appearance was having more of an effect on him than he would have expected. 

“...morning, Byleth.” He tried to keep any trace of embarrassment from showing, stepping back so that the archbishop could come in if he wanted even though he’d much rather at least get properly dressed first. 

At first, Sylvain wasn’t sure why he was so bothered by the situation; this wasn’t even the first time Byleth had seen him in sleepclothes since their relationship had started. But  _ that,  _ he realized, might be the problem. The memory of Byleth’s breath on his neck, his hands on Sylvain’s skin…

“I came by to check if you were doing alright. I couldn’t help but notice your absence this morning,” Byleth explained.

“I’m fine, I just- I slept in. Sorry for...this,” Sylvain motioned to himself apologetically. 

“It doesn’t bother me,” the older man assured him, and he wasn’t sure if Byleth knew he was smiling as he did. He still hadn’t stepped inside, and the thought flitted through Sylvain’s head that he could try to reschedule this for later, once he’d had a chance to tidy himself up. 

“I’m afraid I can’t stay at the moment, but I  _ did _ hope to invite you to visit me tonight. I’d very much enjoy some time together before we leave tomorrow.”  _ Well that solved that problem, at least.  _ Though at the same time, they were leaving early. Would Byleth really have the time to spend with him after all of his duties were done? At least without sacrificing his own sleep?

“If you’re sure you’ll have time to spare,” Sylvain replied carefully. That, apparently, was enough to compel Byleth to step inside his room, using his foot to close it most of the way. Then the shorter man’s arms were around his neck, pulling his face close to Byleth’s own and sending Sylvain’s heart racing. 

“I assure you, Sylvain, I wouldn’t make a request if I couldn’t fulfil my part.” Rather than the tone one would expect after a gesture like that, Byleth’s voice was reassuring and there was only the slightest brush of lips against his own before the older man pulled away. If it were anyone else, Sylvain would think he was being mocked, but Byleth’s face was entirely sincere. He struggled to think of something to say, but the older man beat him to it.

“My usual duties after dinner will not be necessary tonight, so I’ll be in my quarters most of the evening. I look forward to seeing you.” One of Byleth’s gloved hands ran gently down Sylvain’s arm before the man turned to leave, seemingly entirely unaware of the implications his words and actions carried. Mercedes’ earlier advice about communication came to mind again, and he knew that trying to figure out how to approach that particular conversation was going to serve as a distraction for the majority of the day. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the length of time this took me. I struggled a lot with how to cover Myrddin, as writing tactics isn't my strong point, and life enjoys getting in the way. I love writing this, though, so even if it takes me too long I have every intention of finishing it!

As much as Sylvain had become accustomed to carrying out his duties while preoccupied with thoughts about his relationship with Byleth, he was finding himself particularly distracted as he prepared for the following morning. It wasn’t that he lacked faith in Byleth’s skill as a leader; even before the recent developments he’d had the utmost trust in the man from their academy days. Sure, classes had been...strange at first, and Sylvain hadn’t  _ liked  _ Byleth for a good while, but he’d always respected his professor’s skill. 

This was different, though. The former mercenary’s tactical abilities were beyond question, but there was no certainty when it came to attempting to take control of such a well-defended location. They were counting on Claude’s diversion to work in order to even have a reasonable chance at success, and it wasn’t that Sylvain explicitly  _ distrusted _ the Almyran leader- if anything, he would be the only one who’d be able to pull this off- it just added yet another complicating factor to the battle. 

Then there was his intention to have a discussion with Byleth this evening. That was its own set of complications. He’d originally wanted to figure out how he could possibly broach the topic of Byleth’s inclinations, but instead found himself struggling with another issue entirely. He hadn’t thought to ask until it was too late, but the man had implied that he wouldn’t be visiting Dimitri after dinner and Sylvain kept finding himself dwelling over the potential meaning of that. He didn’t think that Byleth would abandon what had become somewhat of a ritual for no reason, but the only other reason he could think of wasn’t any better; that Dimitri had somehow made him feel threatened enough to stop. 

His stomach turned as he recalled the night he’d seen the two of them in the cathedral. How calm Byleth had been while he’d lost it without even being the target of Dimitri’s aggression. What, exactly, would the prince need to have done? Sylvain tried to divert his attention back to the notes he’d been reading but not absorbing. He needed to focus on them, not the scenes his mind was conjuring up. What had Byleth told him during their initial conversations after that night? 

He took several deep breaths, thinking back to the man’s appearance this morning. He’d been embarrassed at the contrast between them, he reminded himself; Byleth had looked as put together as always. No sign of injury. None of the worst-case scenarios he was envisioning were  _ possible _ , let alone likely. Sylvain pushed his chair back, gathering the papers up. The room felt too small and suffocating suddenly. Hopefully a bit of fresh air would do him some good. 

  
  


Once he stepped out of the dormitory, he took in a deep lungful of the chill spring air. The noise of dozens of soldiers and other inhabitants of the monastery helped drown out the thoughts he needed to get away from. As he walked past the greenhouse, he could hear Annette’s voice. The redhead was singing, though he couldn’t make out the words. Sylvain paused near the door for a moment, enjoying the sound. He knew she was self-conscious about the habit, but he was pretty sure there wasn’t a single person in the Blue Lions who didn’t find it charming. Goddess knows he’d had some of her songs stuck in his head for days back when they were at the academy. If she noticed him, she’d definitely be embarrassed and stop, so Sylvain didn’t linger too long before carrying on. He settled himself near the pond, returning his attention to the papers he needed to finish reviewing before his shift in the afternoon.

  
  


Mucking out the stalls wasn’t one of the most enjoyable chores to be assigned; between the horses, pegasi, and wyverns, it was a job very few would be willing to volunteer for. Sylvain had often dodged the assignment during his academy days, but there was no room for slacking off anymore. That knowledge did not, however, make him any more eager as he trudged towards the stables. He adjusted the neckline of the ill-fitting shirt he’d changed into, unwilling to risk ruining any of his good clothes. There had been a lot of clothing abandoned years ago, and the items that had never been claimed were available for general use. Sylvain had avoided any of the things whose owners he could recognize on sight, going for an already-stained set of clothing, but his skin still crawled if he thought about the possible fates their previous owner could have met. 

“Sylvain.” Slightly startled, he turned towards the source of the familiar voice. Ingrid leaned on the pitchfork she’d been holding, watching him with an impassive expression. Sylvain waved.

“Hey Ingrid. How’s it going?” It wasn’t particularly a surprise when the greeting was met with a smile that didn’t reach the blonde woman’s eyes. The days where she had to deal with the aftermath of his constant philandering were long past, but the strain it had put on their relationship had never really faded. There hadn’t been a lot of time for casual hangouts the last five years, either. Despite everything that  _ had _ changed, it felt like things between them were still frozen in time.

“It’s been a while since I had a girl use me as an outlet for her rage at you, so that’s something at least.” Ingrid shrugged at him, motioning to the rack of tools as she resumed working on the paddock she was in. Sylvain took the hint, making his way over to the side of the stable and setting down the bag containing his change of clothes before picking up a pitchfork. Regardless of how things were between them now, he could still remember the fun the four of them had had when they were kids. With one link in that chain already broken, most likely permanently, he wanted to at least try to fix this one. 

“Hey, maybe I’ve just grown out of that. Maybe I wanna be seen as respectable now.” Sylvain grinned at the blonde woman as he dug a pitchfork into the soiled hay. That would do for now; true without giving away any of the details he’d rather keep to himself. Perhaps he should have expected the dismissive scoff Ingrid gave him, the way she rolled her eyes as though the very idea of him maturing was another of his bad jokes, but he hadn’t. It stung a lot more than it should have, and he faked a laugh as he turned away from her to tackle the other side of the pen. 

“...not buying it, huh?” he managed after a moment, “Fine, I’ve been being a good boy because I feel like Felix might actually make good on his threats with how tense he’s been.” Back to playing the role he’d carved out for himself it was, then. 

The two of them spoke little as they continued their work, mostly only giving directions or offering advice. Once the job was finished, Sylvain wished Ingrid luck in the upcoming battle and made his way to the baths, desperate to scrub away the grime that he’d accumulated. 

  
  


Given that dinner would be served early that day to allow those leaving for Myrddin adequate time to sleep, the crowded state of the bathhouse as he arrived wasn’t unexpected. Taking off the old, soiled garments was enough to already help him feel a bit less uncomfortable and the cacophony of voices, while irritating, helped to keep him from being able to get lost in his thoughts. 

Once he was clean again, he shook the water out of his hair. Even after scrubbing his body, he still felt as though the smell of the animals was clinging to him. He couldn’t actually detect it anymore, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. At the less-than-polite urging of a soldier who wanted his turn to wash, Sylvain reluctantly moved to the side to dry himself. After a bit of deliberation he made use of the scented oils, choosing something a little stronger than he would normally be inclined towards in hopes that any lingering traces would be covered up. Browsing through the small bottles brought back memories of intentionally not washing off a girl’s perfume between dates during his academy days, and sometimes even applying it to himself if he didn’t have anyone handy to use for that purpose. Anything to keep one of his dates from actually getting close to him.  _ No wonder Ingrid had been so distant with him.  _ ** _That _ ** _ was the person she remembered.  _

Having made his way to the dining hall, he found it similarly packed. Sylvain scanned the room for any sign of light-green hair, and was disappointed to see that Byleth was sitting with Felix. The two were obviously deep in conversation, and even without getting close, the scowl on his friend’s face was clear. Not a chat he wanted to interrupt. 

He wound up sitting with some knights he’d worked with on a few missions, going over their respective assignments come their arrival at the bridge. The only interruption to the meal came from another of Manuela and Hanneman’s arguments- the man chastising her loudly for still using a fork she’d dropped on the floor without so much as wiping it, and her dressing him down in return for being unbearably stuffy. They always fought the most about inconsequential things before a mission. He watched as Flayn tried her best to get them both to settle down with little luck, then the speed at which they both quieted as Seteth made his way over. One of the knights leaned over to him and whispered that he’d heard the man was in an even worse mood than usual since the archbishop had insisted they needed Flayn’s assistance on the mission. Whether that was true or not, it was at least believable. 

  
  


Once Sylvain finished his meal, he took a bit of time to walk around the monastery, following a path that would eventually lead him to Byleth’s quarters. Despite the lingering chill in the air, plantlife was beginning to sprout again. It would always be strange to him how early in the year things were able to grow at Garreg Mach, to say nothing of the enchantments on the greenhouse that allowed anything planted there to thrive in a fraction of what it took in the soils of much of Faerghus. The wind suddenly picked up, spurring him to quicken his pace. Hopefully he’d given Byleth enough time to return by now. 

  
  


“Professor, are you in?” Even now it still felt a little strange to address the man by his old title. Referring to him as Archbishop Byleth would be even worse, though, so Professor it had to be for the time being. 

“Come in,” Byleth’s response came almost immediately, but the door wasn’t opened to him. Sylvain tested the knob, finding it unlocked. A few possible reasons for the older man not letting him in directly came to mind, but there wasn’t time to dwell on any of them as the actual reason was right in front of him. 

Byleth was seated at his desk, quill moving in short bursts as he worked by candlelight. The flame flickered as the archbishop sighed, pausing in whatever it was he was noting down. 

“I apologize, this shouldn’t take much more of my time. Please, have a seat. I can still converse even as I work on this.” Byleth motioned to his bed with the feathery end of the quill, his tone apologetic. Sylvain carefully closed the door fully behind him, doing his best to prevent the sound from carrying far despite the knowledge that the room next to Byleth’’s had stood empty for so long. 

“No problem. Just glad we can spend a bit of time together tonight you know?” Following the other man’s instruction, he took a seat on the edge of the bed. The sound of Byleth’s quill scratching against the parchment resumed as Sylvain thought about his next move. Even if he were able to bring up what he’d planned to, it wouldn’t be now. It would be harder if he had to look Byleth in the eye as he asked, but the man deserved at least that much. The idea of sitting in silence for an undetermined period of time didn’t hold the appeal it sometimes did either, though. Sylvain’s mind drifted back to what Byleth had said that morning, and he hesitated for a bit before finally speaking. 

“Is...everything okay with him?” He wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to know the answer. Byleth would know whether there was anything to gain from a response, better than Sylvain himself did at least, so he would leave it to him. 

“Dimitri has been...particularly anxious as our departure date has neared. After visiting him this morning I thought it best to ask Felix if he could step in for the night.” It was clear that Byleth was leaving a lot out of his recounting, but he’d given enough to let Sylvain get the jist of the situation. That explained the two of them eating dinner together, and the look on Felix’s face. He was even more glad now that he hadn’t gone to sit with them, as his stomach turned just imagining what state the prince would need to be in for Byleth to go to someone else. Was that the answer he’d wanted? It certainly wasn’t the worst answer he could have gotten. Unable to think up a proper response, Sylvain instead made a small sound of acknowledgement as he chewed at his bottom lip. Silence descended between the two men once again, until the sound of Byleth pushing his chair back made Sylvain look up. 

“My apo-I’m sorry, Sylvain. I’d hoped to be done with my work by the time you arrived,” the archbishop cleared his throat, dropping out of the formality he needed to use during the day as he made his way over to sit beside Sylvain. He smiled gently at the redhead for a moment, before a hint of confusion crossed his face. Byleth leaned closer, resting a hand on Sylvain’s knee as he bought his face close to Sylvain’s neck.    
  
“...That’s a different scent than you usually wear...it’s nice.” Byleth drew in another breath, lips almost brushing against Sylvain’s skin. The sensation made him shudder, his own breath shaky as he drew it in. Then, as though unaware of the effect of his actions the older man had pulled away again and was looking up at him with only a hint of embarrassment in his eyes. 

“Was I taking too many liberties?” Sylvain couldn’t help but laugh at the question, sincere as he knew it to be. All of the time he’d spent trying to figure out how to bring this subject up felt wasted as he fought the urge to tangle his hand in Byleth’s hair and kiss him. 

“It’s not that, Byleth, there’s...something I need to ask you and I’m pretty sure at this point that there’s no way to keep this from being awkward.” Sylvain sighed, shifting his position so that he could face Byleth without having to turn his head. Worried green eyes met his own, but Byleth held his tongue, waiting for him to continue.    
  
“I know you have feelings for me, and trust me it’s mutual, but…” Sylvain motioned uselessly at the air, as though he would be able to grasp the words he was struggling to find, “...I don’t know if you’re  _ attracted _ to me. You’ve been giving me a lot of mixed signals and given your situation I can’t make the same assumptions I normally would, you know?” He could feel heat burning in his cheeks as he spoke, and the dawning realization in Byleth’s eyes wasn’t helping. The words felt so sterile and rehearsed. They  _ were, _ he’d thought over this conversation so many times, but he hated how obvious it was. 

“...ah,” was the extent of the other man’s response at first as, Sylvain assumed, Byleth thought over the implications. 

“I didn’t intend to confuse you, Sylvain. I’ve been trying to keep in mind your words about my not needing to ask permission for physical contact, but it’s still difficult for me to do things as fluidly as a...a normal person would.” The frown on Byleth’s face deepened, sending a small sting of shame through Sylvain, and after a moment the ex-mercenary spoke again. 

“I’m attracted to you physically as well as mentally. That much, I can say with certainty. The issue is more in regards to when and how to act on those feelings, which...it’s not exactly something I can simply ask someone about.” Byleth did have a point, that couldn’t be denied. From what Sylvain knew, the older man mostly spent his time with Seteth and Gilbert when he wasn’t working with his former students. Seteth had to know at least  _ something  _ about Byleth, but the man was absolutely not the type anyone would go to for relationship advice. 

“...Right.” When he brought his gaze back to Byleth, he saw that the other man had a fistful of the blanket. A light flush was obvious on his face as well, and given the context Sylvain felt guilty at how much that drew him in. 

“Byleth.” Sylvain spoke quietly, placing a hand on the archbishop’s shoulder. The older man looked up at him through light-green bangs with the same questioning look as before.    
  
“You might be new to this but you’ve got good intuition. Feel free to act on it.” A bit of his old teasing tone had made its way into Sylvain’s voice, but it lacked the mocking edge it used to have. Byleth made a sound that he was pretty sure was laughter in response, shifting on the bed in order to face him fully. 

“Very well.” Black-clad arms wrapped around Sylvain as Byleth pulled him in for a kiss. Already, the older man’s actions were more confident, as though all he’d needed was permission. Sylvain wished that they had more time; knowing that he’d have to leave soon kept him from deepening the kiss, but he allowed himself to run a hand through Byleth’s hair and enjoy the sigh it elicited. All he could do was pray there would  _ be _ a next time.  
  
  


The journey to Myrddin was a miserable one. Sylvain hadn’t realized how many of the knights distrusted Claude until he’d had to spend days on end listening to the gripes of men and women who had never so much as met him. His own concerns had to take a backseat as he found himself resigned to defending a man he hadn’t seen in years. The last thing any of them needed was to deal with a bunch of bitter, demoralized soldiers, and so far too much of the former Blue Lions class’s time on the march was spent doing their best to lessen it. Some took to the task far more willingly than others.

  
  


There was a sense of near-relief once the great bridge was finally in sight, a back note to the still-thrumming anxiety that filled the camp. No ambushes had been set for them. It was clear even from the distance they’d kept that the bridge was well-fortified against any attack, but that seemed to be the extent of the preparations the Empire had done.

  
  


Directly before the battle, the formation was altered to send Sylvain and Felix to the front lines while keeping Dimitri back in the rear. When questioned, Byleth’s response was a cool deflection, but Sylvain thought he saw something else in the older man’s eyes. He knew he was no tactician, but even so the way Byleth directed them had always seemed strange. Plans would change on the fly sometimes, relayed hurriedly from commander to commander, with no apparent triggering factor. 

For all of the times he’d seen Felix fight, it would never stop impressing him to see it. The effortless way his friend cut his way through the battlefield had a grace Sylvain knew came from something more than simple training. His own lancework had certainly improved over time, yes, but he never had been on Felix’s level and he knew he never would be. It was enough, Byleth wouldn’t send him to the front lines if it wasn’t, but Sylvain had no illusions about their relative skill levels. 

When the commotion started close to the entrance to the bridge, Sylvain thought Imperial reinforcements had arrived. He strained to hear any hint of an order to pull back, but nothing came. All there was to do was to continue leading his battalion, and so he did. Seteth’s recon had let them know that there were several demonic beasts on the bridge proper, so once the soldiers guarding it had been dealt with he and Felix guarded the location until the others caught up. It was then that they learned the truth; Dedue had found them. The man hadn’t been forthcoming with details, but that was to be expected given the context. The myriad scars gave enough of the story for the time being. 

Dimitri seemed lost when Sylvain caught a glimpse of him, filing past with Areadbhar gripped so tightly that he was surprised the weapon hadn’t splintered, Relic or not. Dedue and Byleth flanked him, the archbishop looking small in comparison to the prince and his retainer. 

By the time the battle was over, everyone was exhausted. They’d succeeded, but not without losses. He’d heard Seteth flatly refuse to allow Flayn to do any more work before she had a chance to rest, and both Annette and Mercedes looked ready to drop after treating the troops as best they could. Sylvain had been on the receiving end of a few strikes himself, but he wasn’t actively bleeding anymore by the time Mercedes got to him so he shrugged off anything other than basic treatment. She scolded him, but continued on after quickly cleaning and bandaging his wounds. He really should have expected that she’d send Byleth to talk to him, but the sound of the man’s voice from behind him made him flinch. 

“Sylvain, are you alright?” When he turned to face the ex-mercenary, Sylvain’s heart lurched. ‘Tired’ didn’t adequately cover how Byleth looked. The man’s eyes almost seemed to be staring past him, and there was an unsteadiness to his step.

“Professor, you really need to sit down…” Sylvain couldn’t stop himself from wrapping an arm around Byleth’s waist, putting one of the man’s arms around his shoulders. With the man wearing all black he couldn’t tell how much blood was on the archbishop, but as he moved he felt that sticky dampness had soaked into the fabric that wasn’t covered by armor. Byleth slumped weakly against him for support. 

“There was nothing that could be done, Sylvain...I exhausted every possibility but neither Ferdinand nor Lorenz would reconsider. I tried...everything...” Byleth’s voice became weaker, his steps more faltering, until finally his legs gave out from under him and he nearly brought Sylvain down with him. 

“Byleth?” When his use of the man’s name got no reaction, panic rushed through Sylvain as he slowly lowered the smaller man to the ground. 

“Mercedes, Annette,  _ someone  _ get over here!” 


	12. Chapter 12

Between the reappearance of the prince’s missing retainer and the collapse of the archbishop, unrest was everywhere during the aftermath of the battle. Once Mercedes had confirmed to him that while she wasn’t immediately certain of the cause, Byleth was stable, Sylvain had little difficulty slipping away unseen. He didn’t know how long he knelt in the grass, hand to his chest, struggling to breathe with his heart pounding so hard he thought he’d pass out. Eventually he didn’t smell the blood anymore, but he still felt the sickly wetness on his skin long after he knew it must have dried. _ Byleth’s _ blood. At least some of it. He’d seen for himself that while it hadn’t been physical injuries or blood loss that led to the man losing consciousness, Byleth hadn’t gotten out unscathed. And for the first time, there was no laying the blame for his panic at Dimitri’s feet. This was entirely precipitated by fear for Byleth. Goddess damn him, if this continued he’d be entirely useless. He’d never been a great soldier to begin with.

Once Sylvain felt like he could convincingly pretend that he was fine, he made his way back to the main camp. His skin still felt clammy and his ribs and chest ached, but that could be passed off as a result of refusing healing earlier. That was if anyone noticed or cared, which was doubtful unless he ran into one of the few friends he had scattered through the ranks. A bit of asking around got him directions to Byleth, as well as a casual observation that he was bleeding through his bandages and should probably do something about that. 

The tent Byleth was resting in was separate from the main medical tent, something he might have questioned more if he had the energy. Annette was seated by the entrance, studying some dense tome or another. When she noticed Sylvain, she looked up with a smile that quickly fell, replaced with a concerned frown. 

“Are you okay?” Before he could respond Annette spoke again, motioning for him to go inside. “Mercie’s in there, she’ll patch you up!” 

“Heh, didn’t mean to make a cute girl worry. Don’t worry about me,” Sylvain grinned at the girl as he passed her by, but he sounded fake even to his own ears. He was getting worse at faking his old attitude, but if Ingrid was any indication few would believe him actually changing...where did that leave him, exactly? As a pale imitation of the person he used to pretend to be? 

The interior of the tent was a lot darker, even lit by lantern as it was, so it took his eyes a moment to adjust as he stepped further inside. Byleth was laid out on a cot, motionless, bandages covering the cut on his chest. The sudden feeling of a hand on his arm made Sylvain flinch, and he turned too quickly to face the source. He hadn’t heard Mercedes approach, and his attempt at a smile was hindered by a stab of pain through his side.

“He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but there are no signs of poison or other complications.” The woman’s voice was even more soft than usual; if the room wasn’t so quiet he probably would have struggled to hear her. The fact that she made no acknowledgement of how awful he apparently looked was a relief. Sylvain didn’t trust his voice to be calm or steady enough for his liking, so he simply nodded to show that he’d heard her. 

“You need to be more careful, Sylvain. Let me dress your wound again,” Mercedes chided, moving over to the table to gather some gauze without waiting for him to respond. Sylvain followed her, taking a seat when instructed. 

“Our professor isn’t an average man,” As she worked, Mercedes managed to say the words as if she were simply thinking aloud rather than speaking for his benefit. “I don’t think he’s in any danger.” Another sharp sting as the woman re-cleaned the wound, but Sylvain didn’t flinch away. He simply let her move him around how she needed to. There was a sense of detachment that he hadn’t felt in a while keeping him focusing much on anything. 

“...yeah,” Sylvain agreed without conviction. Last time Byleth lost consciousness he was gone for five years. If he doesn’t wake up this time, what exactly would he do? What would any of them do? 

“The goddess is watching over him, and so are we. If you’re uncomfortable staying here until he wakes, I understand; Annette and I are already planning to make sure all the Blue Lions know as soon as possible once the professor regains consciousness.” Mercedes finished up the last of her bandaging and patted him gently on the arm. 

“Though if you would like to stay, I don’t think a bit of rest would do you any harm either.” Sylvain followed her gaze, noticing for the first time that there were several other cots set up in the tent. He couldn’t accept her offer, and she probably knew it before she said it. It would be too suspicious. 

“Thanks Mercedes. Lemme know when he wakes up.”   
  


“Hey.” It took Sylvain a few seconds to parse that the greeting had been aimed at him, awkwardly stopping at the entrance of his tent to turn around after already having walked past Felix. His best friend was seated outside his tent, honing the blade he’d used during the battle by the dimming light of the sunset.

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up. Come here.” As was so often the case with Felix, it was an order rather than a request. It would have been easy to brush off anyone else at a time like this. Felix, though, would become even more suspicious if he tried. Out of the possible options, a lecture about his sloppy lancework was by far the best outcome he could hope for here.

“What’s up?” Sylvain made a weak attempt at sounding casual, but his own voice sounded distant in his ears. Felix was silent at first, then huffed out an annoyed breath, setting down his sword and picking up his canteen along with a nearby rag. He poured some water out onto it before holding it out to Sylvain, barely looking at him. 

“At least wash the blood off yourself first. I’d almost be worried about you if I couldn’t see those bandages.” 

“I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” Sylvain’s words were accompanied by the first sincere laugh he’d managed since they’d left the monastery as he accepted the rag. 

“Maybe you’d get one more often if you weren’t a walking disaster,” Felix replied. 

Sylvain had become blind to the smell but once he actually looked down at himself he really did need to wash. The rag would only do so much but he made a token effort anyway. As he rubbed at the dried blood, he started to feel a bit more grounded.The dark haired man rose suddenly and walked into the tent, leaving Sylvain genuinely puzzled. 

“Hey, that’s my tent not yours, you know...” The redhead squeezed out the water from the rag and left it where he’d been sitting before following the other man inside. Felix had taken a seat on his cot, and while the look on his face as he met Sylvain’s eyes wasn’t outright anger, he was obviously not pleased. That didn’t bode well. 

“I’ve given you more than enough chances to talk to me. You think I haven’t noticed that you’re avoiding me?” Sylvain didn’t have a chance to reply before the other man continued.  
  
“I won’t force you to explain yourself, but-” Felix paused, and Sylvain caught the look of genuine worry on his friend’s face. “I can’t take care of two thoughtless beasts.” 

“Oh…” The word came out like a tired exhale as the realization hit him. As far as Felix knew, he’d been avoiding not only him but the other Blue Lions as well, and there hadn’t exactly been any jovial late nights where Sylvain had woken him up on the way back to his room. That had been a common occurrence, before. There was no way he could tell his best friend everything even if he wanted to, but he knew he needed to say something that would put Felix more at ease.

“I’m not saying it’s been great since we got back. I don’t know if it’s better than he’s alive or not even after all this time, and that’s not exactly a great feeling.” Sylvain sat down heavily at the foot of the cot, and regretted it immediately. He tried to cover the gasp of pain with a sigh. 

“It’s not just about that, though. The worst flirt in Fódlan actually fell for someone and has no idea how to handle it.” Sylvain intended to grin, but a rush of mixed emotions made it more of a sad half-smile. Part of him wished that Felix had waited to ambush him until after he’d had the chance to get some rest. That would have let him get back some of his defenses. But maybe it was better this way; it was less likely that the other man would think he was lying if he couldn’t keep up his usual act. 

“That _ would _ be the one thing that would make you act like this, isn’t it?” Felix scoffed, but there was no malice behind it. “Does she even know-”

“Yeah, he knows.” Outside of a small nod, there was no acknowledgement from his friend at the correction. Felix simply watched him, waiting for Sylvain to explain himself properly. Sylvain shook his head, running a hand through his hair anxiously. 

“We’re working on it. I don’t want to get into it right now.” It wasn’t often that he was the one setting limits on their conversation. Usually it had been Felix glibly cutting him off as he detailed things the other man had no interest in hearing. With a sigh, the other man rose, starting towards the entrance of the tent. 

“You’ve got until we’re settled back at the monastery. Get some sleep, you obviously need it.”  
  


Sylvain didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew Mercedes was at his side, gently shaking his shoulder. She was smiling down at him as he struggled to see clearly through the haze of sleep clinging to him. 

“He asked for you as soon as he woke up. Nobody else knows he’s awake yet, so you two can speak in private first,” the woman explained. Sylvain made a half-hearted attempt to smooth out the wrinkles on his clothes and tidy his hair as he followed her out into the darkness. It was somewhere in the middle of the night, the only fires tended by soldiers on guard. Once she’d led him to Byleth’s tent, Mercedes took a seat outside where Annette had been earlier. 

“Thanks, Mercedes,” Sylvain muttered as he pushed aside the tent flap. 

As he entered, his heart beat more quickly with each step over to the bed where Byleth was laying. Candlelight flickered from the table beside the man, making the dark circles under his eyes all the more pronounced. Mercedes had left a stool by the bed, and Sylvain sat, wanting to reach out to touch the other man but too hesitant to actually do it. Byleth’s expression was a combination of guilt and shame, and his words an odd mix of rushed and overly formal. 

“I sincerely apologize, Sylvain. I sought you out when I began feeling faint, intending to reassure you, but misjudging my constitution led to exactly the opposite…” As Byleth began to sit up slowly, using one arm to steady himself, Sylvain caught him as his strength gave out. Mindful of the man’s still-healing chest wound, he helped Byleth up. He wasn’t entirely sure if the older man could -or should- sit up on his own so he kept an arm around him, ignoring the pain that told him not to stretch his arm out so far. 

“Don’t worry about me. I don’t matter.” If Byleth was listening to him, though, he showed no reaction as he continued. Sylvain hadn’t heard Byleth’s sound this distressed since before all of this started, and it hurt. 

“I specifically planned to warn you I would likely lose consciousness but that I would be fine. I misjudged how long I could hold on.” Sylvain didn’t know how to read the expression on Byleth’s face, but he knew it worried him. He wanted answers to a lot of things eventually, but right now all he wanted was for Byleth to act like he even knew Sylvain was there. 

“Byleth, listen. All I care about right now is that you woke up, okay? When you’re feeling better we can talk more but right now....” Sylvain took in a shaky breath, using his free hand to turn Byleth’s head so their eyes met. Hopefully this wasn’t going to make things worse. Much to his relief, recognition, or at least realization, became clear in the man’s light-green eyes. 

“...I’m sorry. Since the moment I woke up I’ve been trying to find the right words for when I spoke to you, and once I started... I’m still rather exhausted, I’m afraid. You’re right, we can talk more at length once we’re both rested.” Byleth shook his head slightly, eyes staying closed for too long in between blinks. Before he could think better of it, Sylvain leaned forward to press his lips gently against the other man’s. He wanted to embrace him, but that would have to wait.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he assured Byleth. Apparently that was enough for the archbishop, as he allowed Sylvain to help him lay back against the cot and let his eyes fall shut fully. Almost immediately, the man’s breathing slowed and fell into a steady rhythm. Sylvain rose carefully, biting his lip against the stab of pain that hit him in order to keep from waking Byleth. He made his way gingerly back to where Mercedes sat outside. 

“He’s sleeping again. I think I need to take you up on that offer to let me stay this time, I think I opened up that wound again helping him sit up…” Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if that was the case or if he’d simply pushed his luck too much. It was an excuse to stay, though, and he needed one if he were going to allow himself to accept his friend’s kindness.  
  
“If you’re going to be such a difficult patient, I’m going to give you something to help you sleep...” Mercedes really was kinder to him than he deserved, Sylvain knew. He wanted to ask her why, but he already knew the answer. 

“Yeah, I guess I deserve it for being so much trouble for you today, huh?” Before she rose he leaned down, keeping his voice as quiet as he could as he continued, “I owe you so much, Mercedes. Trust me, I’m keeping track.” How he could ever possibly pay her back, he had no clue, but he’d be damned if he would stop trying to think of something until he succeeded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure I don't need to explain why this chapter took forever, and I'm still not happy with it. I hope it's okay.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild emetophobia warning, and my apologies for how long this took.

The following morning (afternoon? He couldn’t be sure,) Sylvain woke to the sound of Annette’s voice, energetic but firm.

“Trust me, Professor, everything’s fine! If you can think of it, we’ve got it handled, I promise! You can count on us.” He was still working on shaking himself out of the haze of sleep, but he definitely heard light footsteps moving around as the girl spoke. He was grateful, at least, for the fact that her words helped ground him. He’d had a moment of confusion at first, before recalling that he had eventually given into his worries about Byleth and stayed in the medical tent after his late-night visit. Sylvain wasn’t certain, but the amount of drowsiness still clouding his mind made him think that he’d taken Mercedes’ offer of a sleep aid. 

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Annette. The post-battle briefings and preparations are my duty, as is monitoring the state of our troops. Dedue-”

“Knows what happened and that Mercie is making you rest, aaand before you ask Felix has been watching over Dimitri.” Even without being able to see her, Sylvain knew that she was counting off each thing she covered. He had been torn between wanting to get up from the cot and not wanting to interrupt the conversation by letting them know he was awake, but the mention of Dimitri’s name was enough to make him rise. He didn’t want to hear anything more about the prince, so he made a show of it as he pretended he’d just woken up. 

“Oh, good morning Sylvain! I hope I didn’t wake you…” It wasn’t a surprise that she looked just as energetic as she sounded, barely a single hair out of place. Byleth, too, looked a lot better than he had the night before. Something twisted in his gut, some mixture of shame and disgust with himself, because he knew he didn’t have it in him to show any real concern while Annette was there.

“Nah.” He smiled at the girl, brushing off the idea casually as he rose. The ache in his side seemed a lot less sharp than he recalled it being, but despite trying to remember he wasn’t sure whether he’d been healed at some point during the night.    
  
“Mercie said you kept trying to work too hard so she made you sleep here so she could keep an eye on you…” There was an unspoken question, but Sylvain pretended that he didn’t notice. 

“Even I gotta pull my weight sometimes, right?” he replied with a shrug. He chanced another look at Byleth, wishing he had any reason to justify walking over to him, let alone anything more. 

“Feeling any better, Professor?”  _ You scared the shit out of me, Byleth _ , Sylvain wanted to say. That wasn’t an option, though. Even with actively trying to sound casual, he could still hear a strained note in his voice. 

“Yes, thank you. If all goes to plan, we will be packing up to leave in the morning.” The guilt on the other man’s face didn’t linger long, but he couldn’t miss it. 

“Must be a lot of things to do then, huh? Guess I should get to work.” Sylvain wanted to touch Byleth, talk to him about everything unspoken between them, but with that being impossible at the moment he fell back on old habits. Namely, the instinct to flee when things got difficult.    
  
“Ashe needed someone to help him gather ingredients for dinner and I’ve got my hands full, so maybe you could do that? I should heal you up first, though!” Annette caught Sylvain’s arm as he tried to leave, halting him in place and giving him no chance to turn down the offer. 

Her technique was, of course, much more rote and formal than Byleth’s; both hands pressing gently against the bandages under his shirt as she used what training in the healing arts she’d managed to learn at some point. Even before the wound knit itself fully back together, the weight of her small palms barely hurt and made him all the more certain that someone had healed him partway while he slept. The question remained, though, who it had been. 

“Guess that’s settled, then. Thank you, Annette; don’t worry so much about me though, you know Felix would never forgive me if I actually got myself really hurt.” 

  
  
  


He’d never gone out to forage in his entire life, but almost anything was better than drowning in the tension between himself and Byleth while acting like everything was fine. It’d be better if he could find some group of soldiers who barely knew him to work with, the type who’d ignore him outside of ordering him around, but Ashe was a good guy. A bit talkative, but good. 

It took him a while to find the archer, at least, so he had some time to work through some of what was eating at him before needing to engage with the younger man. Unlike the last time, when he’d inadvertently snuck up on Ashe, the man turned to face him before he even got close.

“Oh, Sylvain! I knew Annette wanted to get someone to help me out, but I thought you were hurt in the battle...I’ll be okay on my own if you need some more rest.” Ashe motioned at the basket at his feet as he spoke, and Sylvain’s eyes automatically followed the man’s hand down. Most of the plants inside were barely distinguishable from each other, but they were all neatly cut and stacked in what was obviously tidy organization. 

“Annette healed me up before she let me come out here,” Sylvain replied with a shrug. He knelt down, hoping that if he looked closer he’d be able to figure out what made all of them different. 

“...I’ll be the packhorse for now, these all look the same to me.” 

  
  


By the time Ashe had declared that they were done gathering, Sylvain only had a vaguely better grasp on things than when they’d started. Ashe being Ashe, he’d insisted that Sylvain had been really helpful before Sylvain could say anything to acknowledge that he’d been anything but. He couldn’t deny that spending some time with the younger man had been nice; Ashe’s unfailing positivity hadn’t exactly rubbed off on him but it  _ had  _ kept him distracted.

“I can’t wait until we get back home! Especially now that we finally know that Dedue is okay…” 

“Oh yeah, you guys used to do this kind of thing all the time didn’t you? Surprised you didn’t get him to help; he’s probably the only one here nearly as good at this as you.” He’d meant it as an offhanded compliment, but from the way Ashe’s face fell it obviously hadn’t worked. 

“He’s, um...busy right now.” Ashe muttered, averting his eyes. _Right._ _Dimitri. _Sylvain held out the basket he’d been carrying for the better part of their trip, trying to get smooth over the sudden awkwardness. 

“I bet he’ll…” Sylvain paused, searching for something to actually add to the words he’d started saying without thinking, “really like how nice the greenhouse looks.”

“I hope so! Annette and I have been working really hard to keep it nice,” Ashe was smiling again as he accepted the herb basket. Sure, it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes now that Sylvain looked a bit closer, but he was the last person who could call someone else out on that. 

“I don’t know how you guys do it. I swear some of those plants threatened to die when I looked at them,” he joked weakly. 

“...yeah, some of them can be fussy,” the younger man laughed, thanking Sylvain again for his help before excusing himself to go help prepare dinner. For the first time that day, Sylvain had actually been left alone with his thoughts, and he knelt down to sit. A couple of bugs fled as he displaced the tall grass, but he paid them no mind. 

So even Ashe was feeling the pressure now, enough to let his usual demeanor slip. He didn’t have much time to dwell on that before his mind brought the earlier conversation he’d overheard back to the forefront. 

Felix was busy with Dimitri again, and apparently that arrangement was normal enough that Annette could talk about it without a hint of concern? He didn’t know how he felt about that. Sure, she’d never seemed all that worried in the first place, but there was no way she didn’t know about the things the man had done in the name of revenge. None of them could have avoided it entirely, and with how close she was with Mercedes it just wasn’t possible that she would have stayed unaware. Was he really the only one who couldn’t deal with being near Dimitri? What did that say about him?

Byleth had barely spoken to him earlier. They couldn’t have spoken freely, sure, but he hadn’t even asked how Sylvain was. It didn’t escape him for long that the other man could say the same about him. 

Mercedes would chide him if she knew, but what were the odds that the archbishop would be alone right now? He didn’t know if he had it in him to endure another conversation where they both just pretended there weren’t a million things being left unsaid, where they acted like they were nothing but acquaintances. Not when so much of this was all because of him. 

He wasn’t even sure if Byleth was actually okay. They’d both pretended everything was fine, but the night before still haunted him. That was something they wouldn’t be able to talk about until they were certain they’d be left alone, which meant being back at the monastery. The thought of not talking to Byleth until then made his chest tighten, throat threatening to close as he remembered the way the man had collapsed. That memory served to open the floodgates on a litany of nauseating images that left him retching helplessly onto the ground in front of him. When he could raise his head, eyes watering, it seemed that nobody had paid him any mind. That was a small mercy, at least. No need to lie when nobody’s paying any attention to you. 

  
  
  


He  _ needed _ to see Byleth was healthy. If he had to, he’d make up some lie about having lost something as the reason he was in the archbishop’s tent. Sylvain paid no mind to the soldiers he passed by on the way, too focused on dispelling the possibility that the man he cared for was lying bloodied, undiscovered, alone...

“Sylvain?” The man’s voice was followed by a frantic rustling of cloth, and before he had fully registered it there were arms wrapped around his shoulder and waist. Byleth led Sylvain over to the cot, guiding him to sit. He didn’t even remember actually getting to the tent.

“Sylvain, look at me.” Byleth’s tone was somewhere between pleading and an order. Sylvain half-recalled the last time they’d been in this situation, how calm and controlled Byleth had been, but it was gone before he could fully realize the contrast. A glass was held to his lips, and he reluctantly drank a bit of the tepid water. It helped dull the sour taste in his mouth. The thought of replying to the older man was there, but far too long passed before he realized that he never actually did.    
  
“Couldn’t stop thinking of...” Sylvain managed a few words before trailing off. He wanted nothing less than to elaborate on the bloody, broken images that crushed the air from his lungs. Byleth’s hand on his face was warm, rough fingertips brushing along the corners of his mouth, and he forced himself to breathe.

“At least they’ll just think I’m stupid and drank too much,” the redhead muttered, though no question had been asked. More than anything it was an attempt to convince himself. He let out a raspy huff that didn’t quite succeed in being a bitter laugh. 

“Sylvain, focus on me.” Byleth’s voice was louder now, firmer, as he took a cloth from the stand beside the cot and dipped it in the water glass. Sylvain flinched away at the sensation of wetness on his face, but Byleth held him still with his free hand. 

“Breathe. Nothing happened that you don’t know about.” The archbishop stroked Sylvain’s cheek gently with his thumb as he spoke, and Sylvain obeyed him by taking a slow deep breath. He let Byleth tilt his head down so that their eyes met. 

“Byleth…” The name came out like an exhale as he slumped against the older man’s body. He was starting to snap out of whatever had come over him again, and it was leaving him weak and unsteady. Byleth held him close. 

“I-” Sylvain started to speak but the words died in his throat. He knew he should pull away; someone could find them like this and there was no explanation he could give that would cover it up. 

“Are you okay to talk with me?” Byleth’s fingers ran through Sylvain’s hair in an attempt to comfort him, eliciting a shaky sigh from the redhead. 

“I don’t know. We shouldn’t do this here but...I don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to leave yet,” Sylvain admittedly weakly. Byleth made a sound of acknowledgement.

“I’m aware you’re concerned about my reputation, but I'm far more concerned about you. You don’t need to keep acting like who you used to be. Especially around the other Blue Lions,” the archbishop lapsed back into more formality, something Sylvain had come to recognize as a sign of concern.    
  
“Wish that was true,” Sylvain shook his head, remembering the way Ingrid had looked at him when he’d so much as suggested that he wasn’t philandering anymore. He started to rise, but Byleth’s hand on his back stopped him. 

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, and I’m not asking you to make everyone aware immediately, but it hurts to see you so anxious, Sylvain.” Byleth moved the hand that had been tangled in Sylvain’s hair down to his neck, lingering there for a moment before he let Sylvain go. Despite how he’d just been attempting to pull away, Sylvain remained seated. 

“...Felix knows something is wrong and he wants me to talk to him,” he admitted hesitantly. “I got around it yesterday but I’ll tell him back at Garreg Mach.”  _ It’s not like I had any idea what kind of lie I’d make up anyway.  _

“Only if you feel ready. I don’t mean to pressure you.” Byleth was using that soft-spoken tone that cut right through Sylvain, and he still wasn’t sure whether the other man knew the effect it had on him. His expression was somewhat distant, and Sylvain could tell that it had been a draining conversation for both of them. 

“Knowing him he already has an idea but he’s gonna make me say it.” Sylvain managed a chuckle and rested his head against Byleth’s for a second before finally forcing himself to stand. The warmth from the archbishop’s hands lingered on his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to rejoin him, but he was pretty sure they both needed a chance to breathe.

“Dinner’s probably almost ready. We have a lot to talk about when we get back, huh?” Sylvain gave Byleth a half-smile, attempting to lighten the heavy atmosphere. It didn’t particularly work, not when they both had so much on their minds, and he didn’t know what else to say. 

“...yes. I promise I’ll tell you the truth when I can.” Byleth confirmed quietly, head bent to avoid Sylvain’s gaze. Whatever the man was hiding, it had to do with his loss of consciousness, and Sylvain knew he couldn’t allow himself to think about it any further. He needed to trust that the things Byleth had so far left unspoken weren’t something he couldn’t forgive the man for.


	14. Chapter 14

The days that passed on the road back to Garreg Mach were, mercifully, unremarkable. It didn’t escape Sylvain’s attention that he did not see Byleth more than a couple of times in passing, his light-green hair standing out in a crowd the way it did, but it didn’t elicit the usual dread. He himself had been making himself scarce, after all. Once they were back, there were conversations to be had. Ones that filled him with a sick mixture of fear, trepidation and hope. What did it say about him that it was the last emotion that bothered him the most? 

When, after a night of restless sleep, Sylvain caught Felix as the other man was leaving for the training grounds, his friend did not look at all surprised. A quiet huff under his breath was all he gave in response, but he followed Sylvain back to his room and sat stiffly in a chair, watching. 

“You made it sound like you’d come for me if we didn’t talk, so…” Sylvain gestured uselessly at the air, the false levity falling flat. He was restless. He knew he should sit down as well, but instead continued to pace. 

“I talked to him. I already knew he’d be fine with it, that it was only me putting all these restrictions on us. But I had to hear it again, I guess. He said he-” Sylvain cut himself off. No, Felix didn’t need to know any more than he’d already heard. All the while, he could feel Felix’s eyes on him. If it were anyone else, the silent gaze would feel like being given just enough rope to hang himself, but he knew his friend was just waiting. They’d known each other long enough that Sylvain knew that even if he could see an increasing tenseness in the way Felix held himself, the man wasn’t going to snap at him to come out with it already.

“You probably already know but you wanted to let me say it. You’re the first one I’m actually telling this to.” Yes, Mercedes knew and they’d spoken about it, but she’d approached him. He’d never had to actually put things into words himself, and he was speaking around it every time he opened his mouth. Stubbornly avoiding Byleth’s name. 

“It’s weird now to call him Professor, you know?” Sylvain laughed awkwardly, the words not coming out at all the way he intended them. Rather than a casual statement with enough of a suggestive layer to make his friend roll his eyes, it was almost desperate. _ Take the hint that I can’t do this any clearer. _

“How long have you been hiding it?” Felix finally took pity on him and broke the silence.   
  
“It’s been-” Sylvain paused, frowning. With the stress of everything, his ability to track time hadn’t been the best, days blurring together and only notable events standing out in his memory. “-a few months,” he finished lamely. Things had _ started _ on the path they were on after they’d defended Garreg Mach, but he didn’t know anymore when it had been made clear. 

“That’s what I thought. You said you’re the one insisting things stay quiet?” Felix’s expression had changed, just slightly. There was a hint of concern in the way his brow furrowed, the slight lean forward he did as he waited for Sylvain to respond. 

“Yeah. Thought it’d be easier that way.” Sylvain’s mouth curled in a bitter smirk. “Think it just made things worse though. Go figure.” 

“You’ve always had a penchant for trouble. If I let that, or your aversion to training, get to me I wouldn’t have stayed by your side all these years.” Felix stood then, walking over to Sylvain and grabbing his forearm firmly. The shorter man’s eyes were piercing as he searched Sylvain’s face for something the redhead wasn’t sure how to even guess at. And then the tight grip was released, and Felix was shaking his head again.   
  
“We’re friends because you’re a lot more than just those things, loathe as you are to show it. I won’t pretend to understand most of what goes on in your head, but you need to remember you can talk to me. Come on, you can pay me back by joining me for some sparring.”

Sylvain surprised himself with the laugh that escaped him at Felix’s words, and he found himself agreeing with only a playful attempt to weasel out of it. From anyone else, the way something that had eaten at him for months was glossed over more quickly than any of his shameless dalliances in his student days would have felt like an insult. But that wasn’t how things were with Felix. They never had been. So instead it was a sign that, in the best way possible, his friend didn’t care. Things could, at least for the time they had to themselves, be the way they used to be.   
  


Regardless of how well things had gone that morning, Sylvain lacked any desire to try his luck with any of his other former classmates. Even if he _ were _ able to set aside enough of the fear to stop worrying about skulking around in secret, to spend time with Byleth without a constant background anxiety of what-ifs, his attempt to talk about it with Felix had shown that he wasn’t ready to address with anyone else whatever it was he and Byleth had. They’d never actually put into words what they were. Evenings spent together, a few careful kisses, Byleth’s comfort while Sylvain broke under the stress of Dimitri’s presence...what _ was _ their relationship to the archbishop? For that matter, what was it to him? Until he could answer that, he wasn’t up for any more revelations.

  
Sylvain tried not to let the lack of contact from Byleth over the following couple of days get to him, as much as that was possible. Whenever thoughts of the older man avoiding him tried to settle in to weigh down everything else in his head, he did his best to push them back. 

After every mission, no matter how successful, the amount of work on Byleth’s agenda increased. This time they’d even regained someone they’d long thought lost. If Byleth was still recovering from losing consciousness, that would hinder his work speed. Having Dedue there, alive and mostly-well, would surely have had an impact on Dimitri that could lead to Byleth spending more of what little free time he had trying to reach the person he still believed was buried within the prince. He didn’t need to be afraid for Byleth’s safety before, he certainly shouldn’t now that Dedue was likely present at those meetings before. 

It didn’t help entirely, but it was better than nothing. 

  
  
  


In the early evening of the fifth night since they’d arrived back at Garreg Mach, Sylvain returned to his room after dinner to find a faded book lying on his desk. The cover was blank, as was the spine, but it was clearly well-worn. Several loose pages were tucked in partway through, some clearly newer than anything else about the book but others looking similarly aged. As Sylvain cautiously picked the book up, he found there was a note underneath it.   
  
  
_ Sylvain, _

_ I have spent so many hours thinking about my promise to be entirely honest following the events at Myrddin. In the end I’ve come to the conclusion that if there’s a way I can prove without a doubt that the things I wish to tell you are true, I will never find it. _

_ I’d like you to bring this back with you when you come to my quarters, but I want you to look it over first. Compare the handwriting with the official reports I’ve included as proof that this was, in fact, written by Jeralt Eisner. You don’t need to read it through; in fact, I would prefer if you didn’t. I just need you to believe that what I’ve given you truly is my father’s diary. _

“...what am I supposed to do with this?” Sylvain sat heavily in the wooden chair, re-reading the note and checking to see if there was anything written on the back. Nothing. Knowing Byleth, he probably didn’t realize how baffling and ominous this was, but that did little to temper his anxiety. 

It took him several more minutes before he’d sorted through his thoughts enough to actually follow the directions Byleth had left for him. As far as Sylvain could tell, the handwriting did seem to match, but the question of why exactly the other man thought that he needed to go to these lengths remained entirely unclear. 

Byleth hadn’t even given him any indication of when, exactly, he was supposed to visit him. Was leaving the diary here now intended to hint that after he’d looked it over he should head straight to the archbishop’s room? Or was he supposed to be more suspicious for some reason and spend time poring over the documents and comparing the way each letter was written for inconsistencies? Logically it would be the former, but the way Byleth had written the note made it sound like he expected the latter. 

In the end Sylvain did wind up looking over everything he’d been given again. When no new answers appeared, he tucked the documents back into the diary and rose with a tired sigh. If Byleth was out, that would at least answer one of the many questions racing through his mind. 

Even before he knocked at Byleth’s door, Sylvain could hear the muffled sound of pacing footsteps. As soon as the sharp rap of his knuckles sounded against the thick wood, the steps stopped. There was a far-too-long moment of complete silence before slower, more cautious steps. When Byleth opened the door, Sylvain only half-managed to stifle the startled noise that tried to escape him. It was clear that the older man had made an attempt to tidy himself, but the dark bags under clearly exhausted eyes couldn’t be hidden so easily. 

“How may I-” Byleth began in his usual formal tone, but froze when he registered that it was Sylvain visiting him. He seemed torn between relief and...fear? “Ah, Sylvain. I wasn’t certain if you’d be coming by tonight or not.”   
  
“I brought this like you asked me to,” Sylvain tried to smile reassuringly as he held up the diary for Byleth to see. The fact that Byleth hadn’t lapsed into more familiar speech once he’d realized it was him just made his stomach twist in anxiety even more. A part of him felt bitter about it; didn’t the man know that it would cause him even more stress than the cryptic note already had? But another look at Byleth’s expression, worryingly obvious as it was, replaced the anger with concern. The man usually looked far too put together even after a battle, but he seemed almost dishevelled the more Sylvain looked at him. 

“Thank you,” then, almost as an afterthought, “please come in.” Byleth stepped back, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. There was something deeply wrong about their roles being reversed like this. Sylvain tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted as he followed the other man inside, closing the door behind him. He was still holding the diary, he realized suddenly. He made another attempt to offer it to Byleth, who took a bit too long to register that it was being held out to him. 

“So you’ve...reviewed what I included? Are you satisfied with the proof that it was written by my father?” Byleth’s words were slow and cautious, and he wasn’t meeting Sylvain’s eyes. Instead, he was focused on shuffling the papers into perfect order. 

“You know, I would have just believed you. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” Sylvain meant to be reassuring, but a flicker of undeniable fear passed over the other man’s face. There was an uncomfortable silence again before Byleth sighed. 

“I take it, then, that you followed my request not to read too far into the diary?” 

“You said not to, so I didn’t. You can trust me, Byleth. I thought I would have proved that by now.” For once, Sylvain didn’t need to work to hide anything in his voice; the words came out flat and tired without any effort. If Byleth even noticed, though, Sylvain couldn’t tell. 

“...I’m sorry, Sylvain. As I wrote in that letter, I have lost many hours attempting to plan this. Yet nothing I’ve done has lessened how terrifying I find the prospect of letting someone know this about me. I will...understand if you do not believe me, or if you wish to not speak with me anymore.” As he spoke, Byleth was leafing through the diary, and Sylvain watched him take several steadying breaths once he seemed to have found whatever it was he was looking for. 

“These entries are about my birth and...our departure from Garreg Mach.” Byleth held the book open as he offered it once again. Sylvain fought down the frustration he longed to loose on the other man. It would do no good. Byleth had listened and understood time and time again without showing the slightest bit of irritation, and Sylvain owed him the same now. At first, he only skimmed, until something registered in his mind. 

“If this was in 1159...Byleth, you’re- we’re the same age? Look I know this isn’t what you wanted me to focus on but I always thought-” Sylvain cut himself off as he went back over the text more carefully, taking in the implications. “...she did something to you and that’s why your heart doesn’t beat.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes. It was only after I first read this that I came to know exactly what had been done, but I had- there were signs since the first time I had any contact with Garreg Mach as an adult. I am- Sothis Herself has granted me her power, but in a limited form.” Even though Byleth stopped talking there, it was obvious on his face that he wasn’t done, so Sylvain bit back the questions he badly wanted to ask. 

“I tell you all of this is to explain why I lost consciousness after the battle. One of the things Sothis granted me was a limited amount of control over time. I can’t do it at will; it only triggers under situations of extreme danger or distress, and it’s draining. I spent more energy than my body was able to handle looking for ways that Ferdinand and Lorenz wouldn’t have to die, and ultimately failed anyway.” Byleth’s eyes were haunted as he finally met Sylvain’s eyes again, and Sylvain had no idea how to comfort him. The thought of letting the man’s words go unaddressed made him feel sick, so he forced out a weak chuckle to break the silence while he tried to think of what to say. 

“If it were anyone else, Byleth, I’d call them a liar. But with everything that’s happened? I mean, you came back with an entirely different hair and eye color after Goddess only knows what happened to you, you spent five years sleeping and showed up afterwards looking exactly the way you used to, you’re alive and well when you’ve never had a heartbeat...I think at this point I’d believe just about anything you told me.” There would be time later to fully process what Byleth had told him, and perhaps then he’d have more questions and more disbelief than he could manage right now. Time for them to talk more about this and to figure out what they were going to do going forward, what they were to each other. But right now, Sylvain knew that it was his turn to be, or at least appear, unshakable. 

So he stepped forward, pushing Byleth’s arm down gently so that he could wrap his arms around the other man and pull him close. The unnatural stillness in Byleth’s chest still bothered him deep down, some part of his brain insisting that there was something deeply wrong, but he ignored it and focused on the warmth of Byleth’s body. The sound of paper rustling as Byleth’s hands came to rest on his back, still clutching the diary. For now, this would have to be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for all the time this took, and the fact that it's not what I hoped it would be. I've struggled so much over this, and I finally hit a point of realizing that I can't match what I wanted this to be.


End file.
